Blood of the Underworld Page 11

  The remaining men wanted no part of him, and turned to flee. Haern let them, knowing he had bigger problems to face. Looking to the door, he saw the entirety of the guild had managed to force themselves inside. He still heard combat, which was a good sign. Long as men were fighting, Victor had a chance.

  When he reached the broken door, an eruption shook the ground, along with a bright flash that lit up the night. Haern shifted his feet to keep his balance, then swore. From above the rooftop, he saw smoke billowing into the night sky.

  “Damn it, Tarlak, do you not know the meaning of subtle?”

  The last bit of defense Tarlak had told Haern about was in Victor’s room, which when activated would explode the wall outward, giving the Lord a chance to escape. Obviously it had been triggered. No time left, Haern dashed through the door, and his recklessness nearly killed him. A sword thrust pierced the space before the entrance, shockingly fast. Yet Haern was also fast, collapsing to one knee as he twisted away. The tip of the blade cut across his chest, just a nick that would scar at worst. A faint spray of blood flecked across the ground as Haern continued his turn, bringing up his sabers in the process.

  Thren stood before him, bent into a ready stance. He twirled a sword, not yet attacking, only staring. Behind him, his guild members battled a slew of guards making their stand atop the stairs. All around lay corpses of both thieves and soldiers.

  “This is no concern of yours,” Thren said. “The man is a fool, and he threatens the balance you’ve killed so many to achieve.”

  “Fool or not, I’d rather keep him alive. I’ll have no war in Veldaren, not again.”

  Thren shook his head, took a careful step forward.

  “If you don’t want a war, then Victor must die tonight. Stand down, Watcher.”

  Haern felt his pulse quicken, felt his breath catch in his throat.

  “No,” he said.

  Thren leapt, closing the distance between them with the speed of a demon. Shortswords stabbed in, their angles deceptive. Only instinct kept Haern alive, his hands feeling like they moved of their own accord. His sabers parried both aside, and a shifting of his feet made it so his shoulder met Thren’s when they collided. His father was strong, but Haern kept his feet planted firm, just long enough to halt Thren’s momentum. Hoping for surprise, he then rolled aside, toward Thren’s back, and swung for his neck. Thren ducked it with ease.

  This time they both rushed one another, their blades clashing together with a steady ringing of steel. Haern felt his nerves settle as he blocked and parried. Skilled as his father was, he was slower than Haern, and not as strong. Not by much, of course, but in a contest so close, even a little advantage was crucial.

  “You can still flee,” Haern said, his riposte cutting a thin line across Thren’s shoulder. When Haern tried to follow it up, Thren fell back, his shortswords batting aside every thrust.

  “You’re a puppet of the Trifect,” Thren said, pulling his swords together and settling into another stance. “You won’t defeat me. I am what you’d become if they cut your strings.”

  Haern narrowed his gaze, the tips of his sabers pressed against the wood floor as he took in heavy gasps of air. Before their combat could resume, a thief rushed down the steps. The last of the guards were dead, and whatever fighting there was continued higher up.

  “Victor’s made it to the street!” the thief cried out, as if oblivious that his guildmaster faced off against the Watcher.

  Haern met his father’s gaze, and a half-smile tugged at his lips.

  They both sprinted for the door, Haern sliding to one leg just as he reached it. As he thought, a dagger sailed over his head, thrown by Thren when he realized he could not keep pace. Leaping back to his feet, Haern ran on, desperate not to fail. A quick glance behind showed Thren at his heels, his own gray cloak billowing behind him. Together they rounded the corner, and saw the mess Tarlak’s spell had created.

  The entire side wall of the tavern was gone. The wood was blackened and burned along the edges, as if pushed out by a great fire. Rubble lay scattered across the street. Thieves had given chase, and Haern saw at least twenty of them running. Ahead of them all was Lord Victor, a distant silver shape. No escort remained with him. Despite his lead, Haern knew the thieves would catch him, most of them younger and unburdened by armor.

  “Just keep going,” Haern breathed as he ran, knowing Thren followed dangerously close. He was faster than them all, knew how to maximize the push of every swing of his legs, but the moment he stopped to fight, Thren would come crashing in. Haern saw little hope, but it didn’t matter. He ran on. Catching up to the tail end of thieves, he slid close and swung. His saber hamstrung a man, toppling him head over heels while screaming. Another stopped to strike, but Haern veered aside and continued past.

  Too many ahead. The homes on either side flashed by in blurs. Haern’s pulse thundered in his ears. When they caught Victor, they’d tear him apart, overwhelm him with...

  The street exploded before him. Rocks, each the size of a man’s fist, thudded into the homes. Smoke billowed from the crater that now separated Haern from Lord Victor. Over half of the thieves had been caught in the fire, their corpses now lying scattered about, their clothing aflame. The rest staggered aimlessly, bleeding from the ears. And then from the smoke emerged Deathmask. A pale gray mask covered his face, and hovering about his head, hiding his features like a dark cloud, was a swirl of ash. Fire danced from his fingertips.

  “Now’s not the time to be a hero,” Deathmask said to them, pointing at the nearest Spider. Fire shot from his finger and bathed the man in flame. His screams did not last long, but were still terrible to hear. At the same time, a woman leapt from the rooftops, two daggers glowing a soft violet in her hands. She landed amid the stunned thieves, making short work of those who tried to defend themselves. Haern recognized her as Veliana, Deathmask’s second in command. Not that he had many to command. Only two others were in his guild, twins...

  He found them beside Victor in the distance. Haern feared they would hurt him, but from what he could see through the smoke, they only stood at his side, as if to protect him. Shaking his head, Haern turned behind him, realizing he had forgotten the threat of his father. If Thren had wanted, he could have born down upon him, but instead he stood far back, the look of anger on his face chilling even to Haern.

  “You have none to blame,” Thren said, meeting Haern’s eye. “Whatever games we’ve played, they end tonight.”

  He fled into the night, and Haern had no desire to chase. Sheathing his sabers, he neared the crater, which was slowly dwindling down in the amount of heat and smoke. Deathmask crossed his arms over his chest. By the way his eyes twinkled, Haern had little doubt the dark-haired man was enjoying himself.

  “Since when do thieves protect the lords who hunt them?” Haern called out as he approached.

  “We have no fear of the hunt,” Deathmask said, removing his mask. With a snap of his fingers, the ash fell to the street, revealing his features. He was a handsome man, his dark hair down to his neck, his tanned skin smooth and clean. Most noticeable were his eyes, the left a deep brown, the right colored red. “Besides, you know I enjoy a bit of chaos every now and then.”

  Veliana joined his side, her daggers still twirling in her dexterous fingers. Her dark hair was pulled into a ponytail. She might have been beautiful but for the wicked scar that ran from forehead to chin, cutting across her right eye and leaving it a bloody orb.

  “You don’t mind if we take him for a while, do you?” Veliana asked him.

  “Victor?” asked Haern. “Why?”

  “Just somewhere safe,” Deathmask said, giving Haern a wink. “Don’t try to follow us. Besides, I think you have your own mess to clean up.”

  Deathmask nodded to the tavern that Victor had been using as a home. Haern glanced at it, saw the bodies and dwindling fire. When he looked back, he realized the twins were gone, and Victor with them. Deathmask’s smile grew.

 
“Don’t worry, Watcher,” he said. “We won’t keep him long.”

  They stepped into the crater, and smoke wafted over them. When it cleared, they were gone. Haern took a deep breath, let it out. Whatever was going on, it was currently beyond his control. But it seemed like the Ash Guild wasn’t ready to see Lord Victor killed. At least, not by someone other than them.

  “Damn it all,” Haern said, shaking his head. He looked to the fire, the bodies, and heard the screams of the injured who had yet to die. Far away, a trumpet sounded, the call of the city guard arriving far too late. A rock settled deep in Haern’s gut.

  Whatever peace Veldaren had known, it died that night. Thren’s look had promised war, and in time, decimated guild or not, he would have it. Saying a prayer for the entire city, Haern returned to Victor’s place to wait for the rest of the Eschaton to arrive. Whatever their motivations, the Ash Guild could not be trusted. One way or another, Haern would find them before the night’s end.

  10

  Zusa waited atop the eastern wall of the city, hidden in the recesses of a watchtower. Whenever a guard lazily wandered by, she clung to the stone ceiling and let him pass underneath without a clue to her presence. Then she dropped down, returned to the edge, and waited. It had been many years, but she knew she would recognize Daverik the moment he arrived. What she’d say to him—that she was far less certain of. Perhaps she’d just kill him. She wanted to. Almost needed to.

  The night wore on, but she forced herself to be patient. She had given Daverik no specific location, for she didn’t want his Faceless to set up an ambush. If they tried following, she would spot their movement. No matter how good they might be at slinking through shadows, they were young, and Zusa was better.

  “Are you a coward now?” Zusa wondered aloud as the night wore on. Daverik had been many things, but at least he had never been one to give in to fear. But it’d been over a decade since they’d lain in each other’s arms. Perhaps she was naive to think he had changed so little.

  A distant thunder turned her eyes west. She saw hints of a fire, and a lot of smoke. Curiosity tugged at her to go, but she refused. No matter what, she would not have Daverik wander by unnoticed, left to return to the temple thinking that she had been the one who was a coward. Wherever the fire was, she could tell it was nowhere near Alyssa’s mansion, and that was enough to keep her there.

  When he finally did show, she nearly missed him. Instead of priestly garb, he wore plain clothes, dull brown pants and a gray shirt. He carried no torch, the moonlight sufficient for him. When once his hair had fallen past his shoulders, now it was gone completely, his head smoothly shaved. Time had wore on his features, hardened them, but when she cast a second glance at him while he passed beneath her, she saw the cheeks she’d kissed, the large lips that had kissed her in return.

  A test, she realized. Nothing about him revealed himself as a priest. Only someone familiar with him would know him for who and what he was. That she had passed...should she be pleased, or disappointed?

  “Daverik,” she called out. As he turned, she slid down the wall, silently landing in a crouch. Scanning the rooftops, she saw no sign of the other Faceless. Good. Her attention turned to her former lover, who smiled at her and opened his arms.

  “Katherine,” he said, and the sound of his voice was the key to a vault of a hundred memories. “My god, Katherine, is it really you?”

  She stood to her full height, pulling her shoulders back and turning her head to the side. Though the wrappings were originally meant to hide her beauty, they also revealed every curve of her body. Let him see the woman she had become. Let him know what the priesthood had denied him for ten long years.

  “Not Katherine,” she said. “They took that name from me when they covered my face, lashing it out of my soul with their whips and barbs. I am Zusa now.”

  A soft smile spread across his pale face. The moonlight added a blue tint to his green eyes. That she noticed at all annoyed her.

  “In all my memories, you will always be Katherine,” he said. “But if I must, I will call you Zusa.” He laughed, then shook his head in disbelief. “I had heard one of the Faceless had revolted, and turned away from the order. I had hoped it might be you. You were never one for rules or limitations.”

  “Neither were you, or did the priesthood taint you, convince you that every time we fucked it was my fault?”

  That smile of his faded. He took a step toward her, and she recoiled away.

  “They tried,” he said softly. “They said you seduced me, that your beauty was unveiled sin. At times, I almost agreed. You are beautiful, Zusa, perhaps without equal. But what we did...what we had...I would never diminish it in such a way.”

  Such charming, honest words. Daverik had always known what to say to her, and she felt her old wounds bleeding anew. They’d been in each other’s arms when the priests had discovered them. They’d needed no trial, no council, to confirm the obvious. While she watched, they’d lashed Daverik before the altar, let his blood bleed across the ancient stone. As for her, the order of the Faceless awaited. They’d stripped her naked, and while Daverik watched, bound only her mouth and eyes with the wrappings that would become her ceremonial dress.

  And when they carried her away, he’d said only two words, whose meaning she had always feared, and never fully understood.

  Forgive me.

  “Why are you here?” she asked, forcing a cold edge into her voice. Daverik was just a phantom from her past, a boyhood love. They’d both been so young, so foolish and naive. “I thought you’d been banished to Mordeina.”

  “I was,” Daverik said, glancing about. When he saw that they were still alone, he walked over to the wall and leaned his back against it, crossing his arms. “But it was only for ten years, and now my time has come to an end. They gave me one last task as penance, a way to redeem my insult to our god.”

  “Your god,” Zusa corrected. “I have no love for Karak.”

  This clearly pained Daverik, but he continued without remarking on it.

  “The betrayal of the Faceless Women has weighed on the priests in Mordeina. Though Pelorak initially refused, he finally accepted my return here, along with the reopening of the order. I am their teacher, their master.”

  “Why you?”

  “Because they felt I would best understand their weaknesses, having fallen for them myself.”

  Zusa shook her head, and to show her opinion on the matter, she spat at his feet. His explanation sounded hollow, the reasoning unlike what she knew of the priesthood. He’d be forever branded as a man weak enough to give in to his passions. Why would they put women also believed to be weak and willing into his care?

  “The order should have remained dead and gone,” she said. “How many women have you enslaved?”

  “It is not enslavement...”

  “I asked how many.”

  Daverik sighed.

  “Four. I doubt any are as skilled as you, but they’re learning. Karak has blessed them greatly, and I think they might even surprise you with the gifts they possess.”

  Zusa smirked.

  “I’m sure I have a few surprises for them, as well. Keep them far away from me, Daverik. The very sight of them sets my blood to boil. If you’re wise, you’ll leave Veldaren immediately.”

  She turned to leave, but he reached out and grabbed her arm. Her free hand moved for her dagger, but their eyes met, and she saw the incredible force of will there. For a moment she remained still, lost in time, remembering a seventeen-year-old girl hiding in a dark alley with a pretty boy willing to touch her, kiss her, in ways the priesthood had forbidden.

  “They say you work for Alyssa Gemcroft now,” he said. “Is that true?”

  “It is,” she said, pulling her arm free. She wanted to hurt him, to shock him, and she didn’t know why. “I am her sister, her protector, and at times, her lover. Why do you ask?”

  Daverik swallowed, and she could tell he was struggling to choose his word
s.

  “These are dangerous times,” he said. “I don’t want to see you hurt. There’s much beyond my understanding, but I know Lady Gemcroft is not safe from the coming storm. Stay away from her, and all her family.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “Only a warning,” he said. “I wish I could do more.”

  She took three steps and leapt high above his head, to the rooftop of a nearby home. She landed without a sound, then spun to face him.

  “You’re a smooth liar,” she said. “But I am no fool. Why did they really bring you to Veldaren?”

  Daverik sighed and ran a hand across his bald head.

  “I was to find you, bring you back into the fold now that the order was no longer disbanded.”

  Alyssa felt her neck flush with anger.

  “And if I refused?”

  He met her gaze, let her see the pain in his eyes.

  “I was to kill you.”

  The words were a dagger, but they did not surprise her, did not even make her flinch.

  “Will you, Daverik? Will you try to kill me?”

  “My love, or my god. Do not make me choose, Katherine. I chose you a long time ago. I’m not sure I have the strength to do so again.”

  She let the shadows swirl around her, drawing them to her as if they were liquid and she the bottom of a drain.

  “Did you not hear me before?” she asked. “Katherine’s dead. My name is Zusa. Send your little girls after me if you must. I’ll kill them all. But don’t you dare bring Alyssa into this, or try to harm a single hair on her head. If you do, not even the walls of the temple will keep you safe from me.”

  She ran, just a swathe of shadow in the night. Far behind, she heard him call her name, this time the right one.

  “Zusa!”

  She ran harder, faster. Whatever she’d expected, she felt a fool for doing so. They were no longer children. No longer lovers. He had no right to set her heart racing by his mere touch on her arm. Trying to think of something, anything else, she still failed. His words echoed in her head.