- Home
- David Dalglish
A Dance of Shadows Page 13
A Dance of Shadows Read online
Page 13
Meeting Deathmask’s eye, he opened his mouth to answer, and that’s when the wall to his left exploded. Rock and dust filled the cellar. The four members of the Ash Guild fell back to the far wall, drawing daggers and readying magic.
“I must say, Death, I’m rather disappointed in you,” said Tarlak as he walked through the rubble and into the cellar. “Not a single protection spell against scrying?”
“I cast one on Victor the moment I took him,” Deathmask said as purple fire danced about his fingers.
“Not on Victor,” Tarlak said, grinning. “On you. But the night’s late, and such a mistake can be forgiven for how tired I’m sure you are. I’ll take your guest off your hands so you can rest. He’s such a troublemaker, isn’t he?”
More arrived through the hole in the wall, some Victor recognized, some he didn’t. The Watcher was the first, his sabers drawn, his face hidden in shadow. With him was a priestess of Ashhur, the wizard’s sister, Delysia. He’d met her briefly, when he first came to ask Tarlak to cast wards about his home. Last was a short, stocky man with a beard, clunking down behind the others in a full suit of plate mail. The four faced off against the Ash Guild, who almost looked eager for a fight—all but Deathmask, who just looked amused.
“Such a dramatic display,” Deathmask said. “But truly unnecessary. Did I not tell your pet assassin he would be safe with me?”
The Watcher slipped closer, and with a few quick swings of his sabers cut Victor free from the chair. His back stung when he stood, but Victor was thrilled to be able to move. Glancing to the Ash Guild, he dipped his head low.
“Thank you for the hospitality,” he said.
“Anytime,” Deathmask said, still looking more amused than upset that the Eschaton had come to save him.
“Come see us again,” said the twins in unison.
Victor stepped through the blasted hole in the wall and earth, climbing up to the surface. The priestess took his arm, asked him if he was injured. Shaking his head, Victor glanced back, saw the Watcher remaining behind. The assassin said something to Deathmask, then followed.
“Take me to my men,” Victor said to Tarlak. “I must let them know I am safe and well.”
“We’ll do that for you,” Tarlak said. “But for now, you’re coming with us. Your home isn’t safe.”
“I know. Your spell left a gaping hole in the wall.”
Tarlak glanced back at the cellar.
“Indeed. Seems to be my specialty tonight.”
“Damn fools,” said the shorter fellow in armor. “What were they trying to do?”
“They were saving my life,” Victor said, remembering his flight down the street, thieves in pursuit.
“Doubt that,” the man snorted.
“Quiet, Brug,” Tarlak said. He stopped them all there in the middle of the street. Victor didn’t know why, but the wizard was twirling his hands about in odd motions.
“Deathmask doesn’t have an altruistic bone in his body,” the Watcher said, joining them. “If he’s interested in you, enough to keep you alive, it’s probably far worse than if he’d never noticed you at all.”
“Thanks for the comforting words,” Victor muttered. “My home was attacked, at least fifteen of my men are dead, and a madman has plans for me he’s unwilling to share.”
“Don’t forget Thren Felhorn wants you dead,” Brug said. “That should be up there too.”
Victor glared at Brug, who seemed not to care.
“Done,” Tarlak said, and with the word, the air split before him like a torn painting, revealing a swirling blue beneath. Victor stepped back, stunned. The tear grew, swirling with an unnatural light, until it was the size of a man. Without hesitation Tarlak stepped through, vanishing instead of appearing on the other side. His sister followed, then Brug. Before Victor could step through, the Watcher grabbed his wrist and held him still.
“We risk our lives by helping you,” he said. “Do you understand that?”
Victor nodded. “I do.”
“Good. Never forget it.”
He shoved Victor into the portal. Victor’s vision was flooded with stars, gravity twirled and reversed, and then he was landing on cold, hard earth. His stomach heaved, and he vomited uncontrollably. As he gasped for air, he looked up to see a large tower where rolling green hills met an expansive forest. Tarlak stood before him, hand outstretched, a grin on his face.
“Welcome back to the Eschaton Tower,” the wizard said. “Now that I’ve saved your life at least twice by my count, I think it’s time we re-discuss my fee…”
CHAPTER
11
Antonil Copernus surveyed what was left of the bodies and shook his head.
“What’s that put the death total at?” he asked Sergan, his most trusted friend. The man was a ruffian in soldier’s armor, big features, dirty hair, and an even bigger ax across his back. He was a good man, though, disciplined, and always willing to tell Antonil the truth no matter how little he wanted to hear it.
“Not the best at numbers,” Sergan said, turning to spit. “Think we’re getting beyond what I can count. About fifteen or so of Victor’s men dead in and about his home. Twenty gray cloaks in there with them. Three or four on the way to here, and now this…”
Sergan gestured to the crater in the street, the corpses scattered about, some killed by fire, some maimed by heavy blows. They lay stinking amid the worn stone rubble, starting to rot beneath the rising sun.
“How many more died when that—whatever it is—happened? Fifteen? Eighteen?”
“Lord Victor was a fool to think they’d let him go unpunished,” Antonil said. “Which of these bodies do you think is him?”
Sergan squinted at a few nearby, frowned. “Not seeing any wearing fancy-enough clothes. Might still be alive and cowering under a rock somewhere, though I doubt it’ll mean shit. His fool’s quest is over. Once he’s done wiping his ass, he’ll take the first wagon out of Veldaren, I guarantee it. Question is, what do we do? Pretty obvious the Spider Guild is the one responsible for all this. Think we could have the king declare them all under arrest?”
“Perhaps, if we wanted to send them all into hiding and make all our lives miserable for the next ten years.” Antonil knelt before one of the bodies, picked up a torn scrap of gray cloth, rubbed the coarse material between his fingers. “Who killed the Spider Guild, though? Don’t see any of Victor’s guards having made it this far.”
“I don’t know, but whoever it was was doing us a service.”
Antonil let out a grim laugh.
“Don’t let Thren hear you say that. I’d hate to have to find myself a new trainer for the guard.”
More city guards arrived from the castle, wheeling a cart behind them. At Sergan’s orders they began loading up the dead and shifting aside the larger stones to reopen the road for travel. They’d be at it for hours, all to clean up the mess the attack had caused. The sun was rising above the city wall, reminding Antonil how tired he was, and how long a day he had ahead of him.
Antonil watched his soldiers work with a pall cast over his mood. He’d known this was coming. It seemed everyone in Veldaren but Victor had known. But expecting it and actually seeing the anger and power of the underworld rising up to strike were two different things. And lest they risk all-out warfare on the streets, Antonil could do nothing about it. It used to be that the easy money made the guilds soft, but that seemed no longer to be the case. The Watcher had been the one to keep the more troublesome in line, but this was beyond him. Perhaps it was beyond them all.
“Something bothering you, beyond the obvious?” Sergan asked, coming back from the crater.
“If necessary, we could raise an army to battle off kingdoms, perhaps even the wrath of the elves,” Antonil said. “Yet we are powerless against these thieves. How? Why?”
“Once the worm gets in the apple, it’s near impossible to get out,” Sergan said, smacking Antonil on the shoulder. “Our walls don’t work against this enemy. They�
�ve got no boundaries, no diplomats, no castles to take or crops to burn. Just men, sticky fingers, and a frightening amount of daggers. Much as I’d like to have every one of them thieves stretched out before me in an open battlefield, they ain’t that stupid. So we’ll do what we can, with what we’ve got to work with.”
“They’re killing everyone who talks to Victor’s men,” Antonil said, revealing what had weighed most heavily on his heart.
“Thought you were posting guards?”
“It isn’t enough. It never seems to be enough. My numbers are stretched thin as it is.”
Sergan shrugged. “You’ll think of something. You always do. And besides, weren’t you listening? Victor’s going to be halfway to Ker by this afternoon, and all the way to Mordeina by nightfall. There won’t be any more witnesses to protect. In a few days, it’ll all die down to the quiet little insanity we’ve learned to live with lately.”
Antonil chuckled. “Forgive me, Sergan, but I have my doubts.”
The weathered man raised an eyebrow, spit again.
“Why’s that?”
In answer, Antonil pointed to where Lord Victor approached with a large retinue of his men, their armor gleaming in the morning light. Antonil bowed at his arrival, and Victor responded in kind.
“Good to see you safe and well,” Antonil said.
“I’m surprised myself,” Victor said before gesturing to his men. “Whatever help you need, my soldiers are here to offer it. Much of this is my fault, and I won’t leave you to clean it up alone. Once it’s done, we can resume the investigations.”
Antonil managed to keep the surprise from his face and voice, but only because of a lifetime of discipline.
“You’re still to remain in Veldaren?”
Victor clapped Antonil on the shoulder.
“I don’t scare that easily. We’ll use more caution, of course, take things a bit slower now that we know what lengths they will go to.”
Antonil had Sergan dole out orders, then asked Victor if he’d join him for a moment so they could talk privately.
“Something wrong?” Victor asked as they put their backs to their men and walked along the barren street. It’d still be half an hour before they’d reopen it to foot traffic, and the solitude allowed Antonil to speak his mind.
“It’s the men and women you’ve been bringing in to testify,” Antonil began. “I’ve tried posting guards, but many go into hiding, and even the ones I do protect have been killed. Often my guards die with them.”
Victor nodded while listening, and Antonil saw the hidden anger and frustration.
“Casualties of war, Captain,” the lord said, but he couldn’t quite keep his dismissive tone from wavering.
“Your war, not theirs.”
Victor sighed. “What do you want me to do, Antonil? I won’t leave, not after all this. Would you have me render their deaths pointless?”
“I’d have there be no deaths at all. Conduct these talks in secret. Give shelter among your soldiers for those who request it. Once we’ve weakened the guilds, these measures won’t be necessary, but until then…”
“Enough,” Victor said, his sharp tone startling Antonil. The guard captain watched as Victor turned away for a moment and stared at the crater in the street and the bodies being loaded onto the cart.
“I thought I was prepared,” Victor said, his voice softening. “I thought I could bear the burden. And I still will, Antonil. I will bear it. But it is far heavier than I ever imagined.”
“It will get worse before it gets better,” Antonil said.
“I know,” Victor said, turning back to him. “I will do what I can to hide the identity of those we bring in, whatever good it will do. Your king has already agreed to let me use his castle, so I will question everyone there. As for those in fear for their lives…”
He gestured down the street, where work had already begun to repair the wall of Victor’s repurposed tavern.
“There are many rooms within, as well as space on the floor. Bring them there, until there is no room left.”
“Will it be safe?” Antonil asked, thinking of the attack only hours prior.
“From the outside, yes,” Victor said. “I can promise you that. But inside… I don’t know. I invite assassins in with every man and woman I give shelter. I pray you understand the risk I take, and hope I never have reason to regret it.”
“I’ll have my men keep an eye on your place as well,” Antonil said. “Just ask, Victor, and I will help you, so long as it protects this city and the people in it.”
“What of your king?”
Antonil felt the corner of his mouth twitch, the closest to a smile he’d allow. “What of him?”
Victor offered his hand, and Antonil clasped it. “I would have us be friends rather than enemies,” Victor said. “But tonight has done me well. I know how strong we must be to succeed. Trust me. Last night will not happen again.”
Antonil nodded, wished the man well. Still, when he left to join Sergan, he did so with a heavy heart. Something about the way Victor had spoken his vow made the hair on the back of his neck itch. After near death and failure, Victor didn’t show doubt, but instead hardened his resolve. Yet what could he do to the thief guilds that would be any worse than what he already did now?
“What do we do with the dead Spiders?” Sergan asked at his arrival. “Hold them for a day at the castle, let family members come and see if they recognize them?”
Antonil chewed on his lower lip. “Bury them all in a common grave, not a name given for any,” he said. “They’re enemies of the peace, enemies of our king. They deserve no better.”
“Might piss ’em off.”
Antonil laughed, and he waved his arms at the wreckage about them. “Any worse than they are now? Bury them, and forget them. We have a lot of work to do, and not anywhere near enough time to do it.”
Nathaniel hovered around his mother in the early part of the morning, but her mind was clearly elsewhere. His attempts at talking to her always ended abruptly, her answers terse and distracted. Henris, the scribe sitting beside her, seemed more important, his questions to be given more thought. Terrance was also there, looking nervous and incredibly young next to the wrinkled old scribe. He didn’t speak much, and only when the scribe directly asked him something. Nathaniel tried being more persistent, until Alyssa looked up from the table in her study and snapped at him.
“Must I make up tasks to gain a moment of peace?”
Nathaniel flinched, but he’d listened to Lord Gandrem’s words closely, and knew childish fits were not becoming to him. He grabbed his stump of a right arm, just a small chunk of bone and skin coming down from his shoulder. Nervous, he drummed his fingers atop the bone as he did when he needed to distract himself. Alyssa saw this and immediately softened.
“Come here, Nathan,” she said.
He walked closer and leaned his head against his mother’s stomach as she wrapped her arms about him.
“You’ve endured troubled times before,” she said. “This is one of them. I haven’t forgotten you, though. Tonight I’ll fetch us a bard, and pay him to dazzle us with a dozen songs. We’ll listen together, and when he finishes you can tell me which was your favorite. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
He nodded, and she kissed his forehead. “Go play,” she said. “Otherwise I’ll have John find you something to do.”
“He’ll just make me practice with my sword,” he said. “He knows it gets heavy.”
“That just means you need to practice more, until it feels like a part of your arm.”
“Milady, may I ask the source of these imports?” Henris asked, pointing to one of what seemed like a thousand pieces of parchment. Alyssa turned back to the man, and Nathaniel knew it was his sign to leave. He wanted to stay, to stomp his foot and demand attention, but he imagined the way John would react should he hear about such a display.
“Yes, Mother,” Nathaniel said, even though he doubted she heard him
. At least her promise about the bard was exciting. He loved listening to their stories, most of them anyway. Some dwelt on lords and ladies, and who was in love with whom. They bored him to tears. The ones about dragons, paladins, orcs, wolf-men, and other creatures of the Vile Wedge… those were the ones that kept him up far past his bedtime, wide-eyed in the lap of his mother. He especially loved hearing of the war between the gods, back during the creation of the world.
Nathaniel left the study so the adults could argue and bicker about money and paper, as John had once put it. Part of him felt sad knowing that fate awaited him when he got older. There’d be no charging into battle on a white horse as he dreamed. His missing arm alone ruined any chance of that. No, he’d bicker with old men and women, count coins until the moon was high, and trade things he did not have for things he would never see.
So much better the life the bards sang about.
While on his way to see Lord Gandrem, Nathaniel passed by the door to his grandmother’s room. She must have seen him, for he heard her call his name. Rolling his eyes, Nathaniel turned around. He always felt awkward in his grandmother’s presence. He didn’t know her, had barely even heard of her until her sudden arrival, yet he was expected to act as if she were close family. It left him confused, unsure of how to act. And the way she looked at him, her eyes always watery even if she wasn’t crying, made his stomach twist.
“Yes, Grandmother?” he asked, stepping into her room, which had been a guest bedroom mere weeks before. His grandmother lay in the center of the bed, as she often did. Alyssa had said she had gone through many trials, and was left weak because of it. But she didn’t seem weak to Nathaniel. Whenever he was alone with her her motions were quick, her words sharp, his grandmother a coiled spring wound up and eager to release.
“Please, just Melody,” she said, shifting to the side so she might put her feet off the bed. She wore a thick homespun dress, the blue fabric clinging to her thin body. “Though it warms my heart to hear you say the word grandmother.”