“Lady Elanor told us to be subtle,” said Knight Lord Dariun disapprovingly.
“We are, no one will know a thing,” Maemori said, smiling sweetly as she dropped the limp body of the dockhand to the floor.
He landed with a thud on the dirt of the alley floor, his vacant eyes staring out at the rest of his lifeless companions. Along with the other dockhands were the bodies of the guards and paymaster that had been conveying the shipment. The fight had been short and unsatisfying. The city guards’ strength may have been enough to deter street gangs or cutthroats, but it was as nothing against the might of Tira Gnok’s vampiric nobility.
At the edge of the docklands, amidst the warehouses and workshops, the vampiric group ran little risk of being disturbed. The hour was late and, while the docks never truly slept, this area at their outskirts was half abandoned even during the day. It was a place for those looking to avoid prying eyes, a quality that had attracted both the convoy, and those that hunted it. All it had taken was the slightest nudge from Maemori’s lantern to bring them away from the main road and seal their fate.
Elegantly stepping over the bodies strewn across the floor, Elanor looked over the crates piled in the convoy’s cart, ignoring the horses at the front stamping in agitation. In many ways, the crates looked much like the thousands of others that passed through the docks every day. Close inspection though, revealed spots of dried blood and scorch marks, signs of the difficulty in their acquisition. Most importantly though, was the small crimson seal emblazoned on one corner of the lids, the mark of House Vermillio.
“It appears the information we took from their fleet was good.”
“I am glad this wasn’t a complete waste of time,” said Dairun, sheathing his sword.
Maemori ran a hand over the crates. From most, she felt nothing but the rough surface of the bare wood. One though, stood out and she rested her palm flat on the top, feeling the faint thrum of power from within. The shipping label marked its origin as the Mountains of Maraz.
Maemori smiled, baring her fangs. “Definitely not a waste.”
Wychlight flared in Maemori’s eyes and the stench of dust and rot filled the air. Slowly, unnaturally, the least damaged of the bodies from the convoy began to stagger to their feet, still vacant eyes turning to Maemori.
“Come you dock rats, one last delivery to make.”
“Who are you, where is Cordan?”
The merchant, Palateir, looked at Maemori with a mixture of apprehension and suspicion. She wore a distressed leather coat but the trim of a fine tunic could just be seen beneath it. Behind her, stood a small group of workers, burly men ostensibly there to help move the delivery, though the tools at their side had no use in the current situation beyond that of a bludgeon or club.
Maemori had followed the direction in the paymaster’s log book to a secluded courtyard in the depths of the mercantile district sparsely lit by candlelight. While they had a measure of privacy where they stood, the sound of men and women at work could be heard in the surrounding buildings, all Palateir’s people no doubt, one of the many ventures of the guild she belonged to.
“Cordan? Oh, do you mean this one?” asked Maemori innocently.
She beckoned and behind one of the knights retrieved a body from the lead cart, throwing it forward. Across from her, Palateir gagged slightly as the light fell across the empty eye socket of the former paymaster. Around her, the hands of the workers went to their tools.
“Is this a threat? I warn you-,” Palateir started to say.
“Not to you,” Maemori said warmly.
“Then what do you want,” she asked, beginning to regain her composure, though her eyes kept nervously darting to the corpse of her former business associate.
“I want you to take this shipment as usual, but you tell your council benefactor that it does not come from the Vermillo’s. Your guild’s business relations with them are at an end,”
“And who is the guild’s new business partner?” asked Palateir, her calm returning as the topic turned to business.
Maemroi chuckled, the sound unnerving. “We are a confederation of concerned citizens. Change stirs in Rondhol, and in Khardihr, the future is coming and it behoves us all to be on the right side.”
“The guild looks forward to a prosperous future for the city,” Palateir said with a curt nod of acknowledgement.
Maemori turned to leave but stopped and looked back over her shoulder. “One last thing. Make it known to your masters, these goods came from Furyoth Dell.”
