The Sword

The Thieves Guild written by Ja Kerr, Chapter one, The Sword. The barracks of the Craft Guild smelled of liniment, unwashed wool, and the copper tang of blood that hadn't been fully scrubbed from the floor. It was a grim place, a stone box where men slept between shifts of guarding the city's builders. Vesper walked in. He didn't sneak, He wore the yellow tunic of the guild, but he walked with the silent, predatory grace of a blade. He stepped over a pile of shattered pikes near the door, remnants of Jasper's assault that no one had the heart to clean up yet. At the far end of the room, Torren, the captain of the Guard, was rummaging through a pile of dented and bloody armor and swords. He was a block of a man, thick necked and scarred, with hands that looked like they could crush stone. He wasn't looting, he was salvaging. Metal was precious, and the guild was poor when it came to providing for its guards, and in the past that was a wise use of resources. Today it had led to a humiliating defeat. And the captain of the guards amidst piles of used armor. You're in my light and you're wearing a tunic that hasn't seen a day's work. Who let you in? Torren grunted, not looking up. As Vesper approached. He yanked a breastplate free with a wet tear of leather. I let myself in. The door was unguarded, a bad habit. Captain Vesper stopped a few paces away, just out of sword reach. Torren dropped the breastplate. It clanged loudly on the stone floor. He straightened, wiping blood or grease or something else on his tunic. Turning to face the intruder, He looked Vesper up and down, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. I don't know you. State your business or I'll break your legs for trespassing. Torran's hand drifted toward the mace at his belt. My name is Vesper and my business is survival. Or Ryan is dead and Bertram Bertram is gone. Vesper kept his hands visible, relaxed. Torren stiffened. What do you mean Bertram is gone? He's securing the perimeter. Bertram is dead. Some bit of Cart's treachery or someone desperate or a thief caught while thieving? Who knows? Vesper shrugged. Torren flinched. The news hit him hard, but he didn't collapse. He was a soldier, He was used to loss. But the confusion remained. If Bertram is dead, why am I hearing it from a stranger? Who are you? Vesper? A mason, a smith? You don't smell like smoke or dust? Or are you a thief? Torren took a step forward, his bulk filling the aisle. The suspicion in Torren's voice deepened. Yes, the thief that killed Bertram is here for you. Next, Vesper laughed. The absurdity of the smaller Vesper threatening the mighty Torrn must have hit home, as the craft captain relaxed. So what's your business? My business is the future of this guild. Oryan is dead, Bertram is gone. Carch sits in the merchant tower plotting. Who knows what? I am here to secure the future of the guild. Torren snorted. It was a dismissive, ugly sound. You talk like a politician. I hate politicians. They speak of futures while my men bleed in the present. Get out. He took a step forward, his bulk filling the aisle. Vesper didn't move. I am not a politician, Torrent. I am the reason Oryan slept soundly. I am the reason the ch and guild never moved on us before. Now Torren stopped. He squinted, looking at Vesper's face, searching for recognition. You're a clerk, a messenger. I am the blade of the guild master. The silence stretched tight as a bowstring. Then Toren laughed. You the blade Orion's shadow was a myth to keep the apprentices in line, and if he existed, he wouldn't be standing here in a clean tunic asking for favors. Orion didn't trust you with the truth. He didn't trust anyone, But he trusted you with his vanity, didn't he. Vesper's voice dropped to a low, hard whisper. Torren froze, the laughter died in his throat, replaced by a flicker of uncertainty. For the last two years, you have dismissed the guard at the post and gate. Every Tuesday at midnight, you stand that watch yourself. Orion told you it was for a woman, a mistress from the Upper triangle. He wanted to keep secret from the guild, a harvest guild mystery. Hence the secrecy. He told you that if you kept his secret, he would make you rich. Vesper continued, stepping closer. You stood there in the cold, You stared at the wall, listening to the footsteps past you in the dark, thinking you were protecting your master's heart. And when you stole a glance toward this mysterious woman, what did you see? Vesper's eyes held a cruel amusement. Torren didn't reply. You saw a cloak and shadows. There was no woman, Torren, there never was. I was the one who walked through that gate, and I wasn't there for love. Vesper leaned in his face, inches from the captain's you. How could that have been you? Because a blade is only seen when he wants to be seen, and Orion wanted you to see a lie. Torren looked at him with new eyes. The contempt was gone, replaced by a cold, dawning horror. He wasn't looking at a clerk. He was looking at the shadow that had walked past him a hundred times, the death he had personally invited into the tower. If you are the Blade. Then you failed. Oryan is dead. The guild survives. That is the Blade's duty to ensure the guild survives. Torn walked over to a bench and sat down heavily. The revelation seemed to have sapped his aggression. Fine, you're the ghost. What do you want with me? The captains are to vote on a new guild master. What is this? I have been told, no such thing. I am telling you. It is why I'm here. There are two guild master designates. Vesper walked over and stood in front of Torren. And who are these two designates? Torren's voice was filled with disdain. Clearly Torn assumed the choice would be between bad and worse. One is Polo's man, Rogers. Rogers, the hero of the pit. He's a good man. Torren nodded. Perhaps you missed it when I said he was Polo's man. Do you want our guild to be pawns of Polo? He watched Torren's face. The tribalism of the guilds was deep. A merchant overlord was bad, but a harvest master that was an insult. And who is the other man? Torren's stare was intense as he looked at Vesper. That would be me. Vesper said it simply, as a fact that made all the sense in the world. You you're a killer, an assassin. You operate in shadows. Vesper leaned in his dark eyes, locking onto Torrents. Rogers is a good man, Torrn. That is his weakness. He will try to be fair, He will try to compromise, and while he is shaking hands, Kartch will be emptying our vaults. We do not need a hero. We need a guild master who isn't afraid of the dark, who isn't afraid to do the things that others fear. We need someone who knows where the bodies are buried, because he put them there. He let the silence hang. He needed Torrn to feel the weight of the choice. Weakness or strength, outsider or insider. You know me. You don't know my name, perhaps, but you know my work. You know I protect what is mine, what is ours. Torren looked at the floor, then at the racks of weapons, and finally at Vesper. He saw the killer, He saw the ambition, but he also saw one of his own. Still, Rogers is a good man. Good men get eaten for lunch by men like Polo, Torren, certainly you know this. Torron appeared to be pondering Vesper's words as he stared into space. Finally, he looked over at Vesper. There is wisdom in your words, but the captains should have a voice. If we are to vote for you, we want our voices to be heard. Of course, I'm going to need the help of those that know how to lead their men and women. I can navigate the guilt of better waters, but I can't row the ship in that. We will work together. You have my vote, Blade, don't make me regret it. Torren stood up and walked directly up to Vesper, his towering bult making Vesper look small, although Vesper made sure to stand tall. Polo will offer you money. He will attempt to bribe. You, Torren laughed. What can he give me that you won't promise me? It was an insightful reply, which Vesper wasn't expecting. That's true, but my real promise is guild independence. Torren smiled, and in that moment, Vesper knew his vote was secured. A Podcast Alchemy production Assas