A Dance of Chaos Page 13

  “Then before Ashhur, as witnessed by a representative of His Majesty, King Edwin Vaelor, I declare you husband and wife, Lord and Lady Gemcroft. May you know only happiness in your years together, from this first moment of new life to the grave and the life beyond.”

  “If you’d sign here,” said another man, younger, sounding bored and even a little annoyed. The lawyer, she decided, the guess confirmed when a quill was placed in her free hand. Victor released her other hand, took her wrist, and guided her to the line, where she signed with a quick scribble she knew was getting worse every day. That done, she handed over the quill, felt her husband take her hands.

  “My lovely wife,” he said, leaning closer, his voice dropping. “It is such an honor to become a member of the Gemcroft family. I pray you trust me always, and I promise you, I will never, ever let you regret this day.”

  “Such grand promises,” she said, doing her best to smile. She sensed him dipping lower, felt his lips upon hers. She kissed back once, lips pressed tightly closed together, her back arching away from him ever so slightly. From all around she heard soft, scattered applause from the few servants in attendance. As Victor pulled away and squeezed her hands, all Alyssa could think of was how glad she was Zusa hadn’t witnessed that cold mockery of a kiss.

  CHAPTER

  10

  As the sun set behind the walls of the city, Muzien waited for Zusa at the entrance to his guildhouse, having sent runners to find her half an hour before. Despite the seriousness of the night, it still put a smile on his face to see her come strolling up the road. So much confidence in her step, conveyed with every swing of her hips and the daggers belted to them. To think servants of Karak would wish her smooth skin hidden, her green eyes veiled …

  “You summoned me?” she asked once she could speak without shouting.

  “I heard you had a run-in with Thren and the Watcher,” he said.

  “I did. They escaped, but I promise not to let them do so again.”

  “They’re skilled foes,” Muzien said, shaking his head. “Make no such promises, for they are beyond even your control. In time, though, they’ll make a mistake, and you will be there to ensure they pay for it.”

  Zusa waited before him, arms crossed over her chest. She tugged at the collar of her coat, and Muzien wondered how much she might prefer a cloak instead.

  “They’ll grow bolder with each day they live,” she said. “Such confidence is dangerous. Will you not go after them instead?”

  Muzien stepped close, and he ran his fingers through her short dark hair.

  “For such skill and beauty, you’ve lived only in shadows and secrecy,” he told her. “If you kill Thren or the Watcher, your name will be envied throughout the underworld. But should you kill them both? My legacy is already set in stone. Yours? Yours is young, and I would give you the chance to make it something beautiful.”

  It was impressive, if not a little disappointing, how controlled she remained at his touch. No excitement, no tilting of the face. No disgust, either, nor repulsion. Simply put, he didn’t know what he was to her. Given her skill, her beauty, he decided that come peaceful times he would put far more effort into investigating the riddle that was the former faceless woman.

  “Walk with me,” he said, and she joined him as he traveled down the road.

  “Do you wish something of me?” she asked.

  “Besides your lovely company?”

  He lifted an eyebrow, but again she gave him no clue, no reaction. The cloth may as well have never left her face, she was so guarded and unreadable.

  “Besides that, yes,” she said.

  Muzien let out a sigh, and he forced his mind to more pressing matters.

  “I know the priests of Karak have a strong presence in the city,” he said. “But what I do not know is where their temple is located. I’ve scoured this entire city and found nothing, yet those in power insist it is real, yet also insist they cannot bring me to it lest they suffer greatly. This troubles me, for I need to discuss matters of importance with Karak’s followers.”

  “You wish me to lead you to the temple,” Zusa said. It was not a question.

  “I do.”

  For once that perfect visage cracked, and he saw the barest hints of an internal debate raging within.

  “I will lead you there,” she said. “But I will not enter. Should they recognize me, there will be blood spilled, and I will not risk becoming their prisoner again.”

  Silence fell over them as they walked, and Muzien debated how to react. By refusing to enter the temple she was refusing him, regardless of whether he had actually given the order. Part of him wanted to break her for it, to let her know her life depended on accepting his wishes no matter how strongly they risked her life or filled her with repulsion. But she was clearly different from his other guildmembers, something special, and given the wounds of her past as well as the risk of complications should the priests recognize her, he decided to let the matter slide.

  “Very well,” he said. “Lead me to their temple doors, and I shall force you to travel no closer than that.”

  That appeared acceptable enough, and she nodded.

  “All right,” she said. “Follow me.”

  She led him to the eastern district of the city, where the homes were built tall and guarded, revealing the power and wealth of those who resided safely away from the poverty of the other districts. Amid the affluence was a somber-looking mansion with heavy iron gates surrounding it. Zusa paused before it, and she nodded in the building’s direction.

  “Is this the temple?” he asked.

  “It is, but not quite,” she said. “Put your hand on the gate.”

  He did, his eyes not on the mansion but on her.

  “Repeat after me,” she said. “I see through your illusions.”

  “I see through your illusions.”

  At that the mansion shimmered, then changed into an impressive structure of black stone, the front smooth, decorated only with pillars and the enormous skull of a lion hanging above the doorway. The gate opened a crack on its own, and Muzien pushed it farther so they might pass. On the obsidian walkway he stepped, but Zusa did not follow.

  “This is as far as I go,” she said.

  Again he thought to rebuke her, then let it pass.

  “I understand,” he said, thinking of at least one way to exert some measure of control. “Wait just outside, though, and do not leave until I come back for you.”

  “If you insist.”

  She bowed low, and he dipped his head in return. Putting his back to her, he crossed the obsidian to the imposing double doors set in a deep recess behind the dark pillars and carved lions. Before them he paused, unsure of what he would ask. He was forced to decide quickly, for the doors cracked open, and a young man stepped out and bowed.

  “How might we help you?” the man, little more than a boy, asked.

  “I wish to speak with whoever wields the greatest power within this temple,” Muzien said.

  The boy didn’t seem too impressed with the request.

  “That would be our high priest, Pelarak,” he said. “But he must agree to speak with you, which is doubtful, for the high priest is a very busy man with many important duties. There are others who may hear your confession, or accept your tithes, should you wish to kneel before the altar and wait for attending.”

  Muzien smirked at the word tithes.

  “I doubt your priests would so readily accept any tithes I might offer,” he said. “Go tell Pelarak that Muzien the Dark-hand stands at his door. I assure you, the high priest will find time to meet with me.”

  “Very well,” the boy said, bowing. With a deep thud the doors shut, leaving Muzien alone between the pillars. Leaving him there was disrespectful, but Muzien knew enough of the gods and their servants not to be surprised. They obeyed but one lord, and all others, no matter how much wealth and power they wielded, would always be treated as inferior.

  After several minutes
the doors reopened.

  “Follow me,” the boy said, then turned to lead the way without waiting to see if Muzien followed.

  When he stepped into the temple, Muzien felt a shiver shoot up his spine.

  This is not the home of a sane god, he thought, an almost instinctual decision. Everything seemed fine to his eyes, just humans making their meager attempts to worship and make offerings to the divine. As he followed the boy, he passed by rows of little candles, as well as numerous paintings of their god, Karak, as his worshippers guessed him to have looked when he first walked the land. The entry hall had rows of hardwood benches, the carpet a soft red. The feel in the air made him uncomfortable, he decided, the quiet anger that seemed to echo from every wall.

  And then he stepped before the great statue of Karak in the grand foyer, and he knew his instinct had been correct. Karak’s visage carved of stone towered over the few priests kneeling before him. A bloodstained bowl lay at its feet, former contents splashed across its legs and chest. The god stood with sword in one hand, fist raised high to the heavens in the other. Deep-purple light shone across him from all sides, coming from braziers at the statue’s feet that burned the same somber color. The very sight of the statue filled Muzien with a momentary desire to kneel, immediately followed by complete revulsion. He would bow to no god, not Celestia, and certainly not one of the failed, pathetic human deities that had come to Dezrel fleeing their own failures on another world.

  From there they passed through a door, Muzien’s guide pausing to dip his head in respect to the statue. Muzien ignored it the best he could, and was glad when they were deeper in the temple, out of sight of the horrible thing. They passed by several doors, none of them marked, before the boy stopped and knocked on one of them. The moment the door opened, the boy stepped aside, bowed his head, and took a position waiting, leaving Muzien with no choice but to introduce himself to the high priest of the temple.

  “Greetings,” he said as the pale man stepped out. “I am Muzien the Darkhand, and I have come to talk.”

  “Come in,” said Pelarak, swinging the door open wider. “I am honored to have you as my guest.”

  The bedroom was plain, simple, a padded bed, a desk, a chair, and a filled bookshelf were all that decorated the room. Given the grandeur of everywhere else in the temple, Muzien found it a nice change of pace. Pelarak himself was unimposing enough, though he carried himself with the air of one with absolute authority. When he spoke, every syllable came out as if he were declaring the immutable law of the heavens.

  “I thank you for allowing me this visit,” Muzien said, deciding there would be no harm in attempting civility at the start.

  “Believe it or not, this is a historical occasion,” Pelarak said, dipping his head in respect. “You are the first of Celestia’s children to ever set foot within our temple.”

  “Perhaps I am the first to ever desire to,” he said, flashing his most charming smile. “Though perhaps desire is too strong a word for my situation. No, I come because I must, Pelarak. There are traitors in your midst, and they must be dealt with before the damage they deal cannot be undone.”

  Whatever pleasantness had been in Pelarak’s smile and voice immediately vanished. He shut the door behind Muzien so they might have total privacy, then stepped away.

  “Tell me,” he said. “And do not mince words. I am not one for games and riddles, and your tongue will bring death upon the names you offer … or upon you, should you come into our home spreading lies and chaos.”

  “You’re a man of power, Pelarak, but I assure you I am one of very few you should never threaten.”

  Pelarak smiled at him, the smile of a king on his throne leering down at a penniless servant.

  “You are inside Karak’s most sacred temple, and are surrounded by his faithful,” he said. “I make no threats, only simple statements of truth. Speak lies to me, and you will die, Muzien.”

  Already Muzien could tell his entire visit to the temple would be distasteful. Still, he had more important things to worry about than a few petty stabs at his pride.

  “From before my arrival, I have been working with members of your priesthood,” Muzien said. “Two men in particular, Luther and Daverik, both seeking to keep their efforts hidden from you and your ilk.”

  Upon hearing the names, Pelarak swallowed hard and sat down in his plain chair.

  “What did they offer you?” he asked.

  “Daverik ensured my men could enter the city without hassle from the guards, smuggling in supplies, weapons, and merchandise to sell on the streets. In return, I was to position stone tiles bearing the mark of my guild throughout the city.”

  “I’ve seen them,” the priest said. “Was that all they wished of you, the smuggling of those tiles? It is a strange payment to demand.”

  “It was,” Muzien said. “Which meant the tiles hid something. Not that I was surprised, but I expected something … mundane. But they’re not, Pelarak, and that is why I’m here. I’ve come for an explanation to the madness I’ve discovered.”

  Pelarak’s eyes narrowed.

  “Explain yourself,” he said.

  Muzien put a hand on the desk and leaned closer, staring the priest in the eye so he would see he spoke no lie.

  “The tiles have been filled with fire and thunder. Upon their breaking, they destroy anything in the vicinity, be it stone or wood or flesh. Karak’s magic is at work, and I need to know what goal could possibly be served by leveling the entire city.”

  Pelarak took in a deep breath and then let it out.

  “The destruction these tiles can accomplish,” he said. “You’ve seen it?”

  The elf nodded.

  “I had one broken with a sledge. The ensuing eruption left a crater in the grass, and turned four men, plus my wagon, into a pile of ash. Given how many are scattered throughout the city, someone out there has the power to turn this entire city into a monument of fire and ruin.”

  The priest rocked back and forth a moment. He was shaking, and when he spoke, Muzien realized that he shook with rage.

  “I assure you such action was never once condoned by our order,” he said. “Whatever Daverik and Luther have done, it was done behind our backs, making them traitors to our order.”

  “It’s still not too late for it to be rectified,” Muzien said. “Bring Daverik here before us, and we shall hear the answer from his own lips why he has put your entire city in danger.”

  Pelarak sighed.

  “It isn’t that simple,” he said. “Daverik is dead, murdered five days ago.”

  “Murdered? By whom?”

  The priest hesitated.

  “This is a matter that does not concern you, only members of the faith.”

  “Priest,” Muzien said, his voice dropping lower, “I would prefer to be the judge of what does and does not matter when it comes to the destruction of my city. I have been used by a madman, so if you wish to help me undo the damage, then keep no secrets from me. I am not your enemy here, now tell me all you know about Daverik and why he was murdered.”

  The priest thought it over a moment longer, then finally relented.

  “So be it,” he said. “Two of Daverik’s students witnessed his murder at the hands of a former lover and traitor to our faith, Zusa the faceless. A personal matter, I’m sure, with nothing to do with your … arrangements.”

  Despite the many years Muzien had spent learning to control his reactions, he nearly let his surprise show at hearing Zusa’s name.

  That explains why you refused to enter the temple, he thought, vowing to investigate that curious tidbit further when he had more time.

  “Then that leaves Luther for us to receive our answers from,” Muzien said. “Last I heard he was in Ker. I know your kind has ways to communicate across long distances, and surely this is an occasion worthy of that ability.”

  Pelarak shook his head, and he seemed to sink farther into his chair.

  “I received a scroll ten days ago fr
om the Stronghold,” he said. “It warned against potential intruders, for it seemed a man by the name of Haern had broken into the Stronghold and slain Luther in his room. The paladins captured him, but the next night he broke free, though whether alone or not, the high paladin could not say for certain. As for the reason, none was given, and we had nothing to go on as to why Haern might have done so. Now, though…”

  Pelarak looked back up at him, brow furrowed, cold eyes piercing his.

  “Now it seems we have a reason. There are others involved in whatever game you and Luther were playing, Muzien. As for the intruder, Haern is likely the one known as the Watcher of Veldaren, and the attack on the Stronghold matches up with the weeks he went absent. An absence your own guild used well to its own advantage, I must say.”

  Muzien’s pulse had begun to race, and he forced down his smile, kept at bay his growing excitement.

  “So do you think the Watcher was working with Luther?” he asked, even though he knew the answer. Better to ask, though. Better to let Pelarak think answers eluded him.

  “I don’t know,” Pelarak said. “We have been debating how we shall respond to such a grievous insult. The proof is meager, with only a name given under duress, and it easily could have been a lie. Taking down the Watcher would involve casualties, of that we are certain. A vocal group of our temple insists we let the paladins come here to seek their own vengeance, given how their failures let him escape in the first place. But if the Watcher was indeed behind the placing of these tiles, any attempt to take him could prove disastrous. The tiles erupt in enormous fire and force upon activation, yes? I fear whoever placed them will be able to activate them upon demand, granting this person frightening power.”

  “This doesn’t feel like something within the Watcher’s capabilities or morality,” Muzien said.

  “Then who else, Muzien? Under normal circumstances, given your placing of the tiles, I would assume you the one with the key to activating them. And if you are not, we have no other guesses.”

  Muzien had one, not that he would let the priest know it. After all, during the Watcher’s absence, there’d been another man mysteriously absent …