“You think this is a trap,” Haern stated.

“I do. Hensley is the lowest rung on a ladder two feet deep in dung. No way would he know about such a plan.”

The assassin leaned back in his chair, his eyes distant as he lost himself in thought. “Why the trap, though?” he wondered.

“You said it yourself,” Tarlak said with a shrug. “If all the guilds cooperate, they won’t be caught, and no one will cannibalize the other. So what is left that threatens them?”

“Me,” Haern said, pulling the hood back over his face. A shadow immediately engulfed his face, born of magic. Only his blue eyes and his firm chin pierced out from his hood.

“Yes, the Watcher of the King, paid handsomely to ensure peace among the thief guilds by removing all who would turn our streets to anarchy. Well, it appears your efforts have earned you many enemies.”

“I must visit my contacts,” he whispered, turning to go.

“No,” Tarlak said. His voice gave no room for argument. “You kill them and they’ll know we see their bait for what it is. We’re going to willingly spring this trap.”

“Why?” Haern asked.

“Because someone organized all this, and I want to know who. Besides, a lesson to the underworld not to mess with the Eschaton could make our lives much easier in the coming months.”

“If you insist.”

He opened the door and was about to leave when Tarlak halted him again.

“Oh, by the way, will the half-orc be ready by then?”

Haern shrugged. “He is ready now. All that is left is years of polishing.”

“Well, try not to beat him too badly that morning. We’ll need him healthy for the assassination trap.”

“Whatever you say,” Haern said, offering a mock bow. He shut the door as quietly as he had entered. Minutes later, a loud banging startled the wizard from his task of copying spell scrolls.