A Dance of Shadows Page 16

  “Thought never crossed my mind,” Tarlak said, giving him a wink. “Good luck, and pray to Ashhur we escape this madness unscathed.”

  Antonil bowed low, then stepped out. As the door shut behind him, he saw a strange woman sitting cross-legged just off the path. Her dress was plain, simple, but it looked poorly fitted, as if never worn by her before. She had olive skin and hair cut short. Two daggers twirled in her hands.

  “Does he live?” she asked him.

  Antonil’s hand drifted to the hilt of his sword.

  “Who?” he asked.

  The woman stared at him, her head tilted to one side.

  “Haern,” she said at last. “I’m a friend.”

  Knowing his name had to mean something, Antonil decided, though he kept his hand on the hilt all the same.

  “He’s alive but hurt,” he said. “I don’t know how long until he recovers.”

  The woman nodded, stood. Her daggers slipped into her sash.

  “I will try to quell the rumors,” she said. “But it will not matter. They want to believe he’s dead, even if for only a night. Blood will spill when the sun sets, Guard Captain. Do what you must to make it of the guilty, and not the innocent.”

  Lazily she stood and began walking toward the city. Antonil waited, not wanting to be near her as he traveled. Something about her wasn’t quite right…

  Shaking his head, he banished the thoughts and headed down the path, seeing no sign of her. Upon reaching the gates of Veldaren, he saluted the guards and denied their offer of an escort. Antonil was not yet ready to return to the castle. Instead he hurried to Victor’s tavern, where he was allowed entrance with hardly a glance. Inside, Victor sat at a table, a map of Veldaren unrolled before him. Sef sat beside him, pointing at various districts and muttering. Upon Antonil’s entrance they both stood.

  “Forgive my intrusion,” Antonil said. “I’m sure you’ve heard the talk of the day.”

  “We have,” said Victor.

  “I hate to do this, but my guards will not be enough. I don’t know what coin I can guarantee, but…”

  “Save your words,” Victor said, sitting back down at the table. “My men will be out there, and I with them. We’ll do everything we can to save this city. You won’t be doing this alone.”

  “Thank you,” Antonil said, feeling a brief glimmer of hope. Between the Eschaton, the city guard, and now Victor’s men, they just might endure. “I am relieved to hear it.”

  “You shouldn’t have doubted in the first place,” Victor said. “Even if you never asked, I’d still be out there. I’m here for you, Antonil. For all of the city. By my life or death, we will see brighter days.”

  Antonil bowed low, convinced of the man’s sincerity and honored by it.

  “The Watcher is alive,” he said before leaving. “We only need to buy him time.”

  “That’s good news to hear,” Victor said. “I feared his death would one day tear down everything, but I thought it many years in the distance. Shame on him for giving us such a scare. I’ll have harsh words for him the next time we meet. I daresay I might even yell and call him selfish for nearly dying on us so early.”

  The lord grinned, and Antonil grinned back.

  “Protect the peace,” he said.

  “You as well.”

  Antonil left, and with everything either prepared or set into motion, he went to the castle to endure his king’s frightened rants and calls to action.

  CHAPTER

  14

  Tarlak adjusted his hat, smoothed out his robes, and made sure his bag of spell components was fully stocked in case he needed some of his trickier spells. He took a deep breath, let it out, and then stepped into Haern’s room. Delysia still sat at the edge of his bed, her red hair a rumpled mess. She saw him, straightened up.

  “Are you leaving?” she asked.

  “Sun’s almost set. The party should start soon enough.”

  His sister nodded. “I’ll get ready,” she said.

  Tarlak took another deep breath. This was the conversation he’d been dreading.

  “You’re not going,” he said.

  Delysia’s eyes narrowed, and he saw her stubborn streak surfacing.

  “I am not afraid,” she said. “Nor am I helpless. You need all the help you can get tonight, and you know it. I will not sit idly by while you risk your lives.”

  “That’s not it,” Tarlak said, sitting down at the edge of Haern’s bed. He gestured to Haern, who still slept. “You’re needed here. If you get hurt, or captured, then his recovery will only take longer. Not sure how this happened, but right now Haern’s the most important man in the city. We’ve got to get him up and stabbing people with the pointy end of those sabers.”

  He pulled off his hat, ran a hand through his hair.

  “Besides, Sis, I’m already in over my head. Haern’s the one who knows these people, who their leaders are, what they’ll do. I just plan on roasting anyone who looks at me funny, and praying to Ashhur that I got a bad guy.”

  Delysia shifted so she sat beside him, and he wrapped his arm about her.

  “I’m tired of this room,” she said, letting out a laugh.

  “I know. You don’t look too good, either.”

  She elbowed him, and he mussed her hair in return. Their cheer was forced, and it died quickly. Tarlak looked to Haern, and he felt the weight of the night pressing on him.

  “I think he’ll wake soon,” he said. “Someone should be here when he does, and I think he’ll be happy that it’s you. Let him know what’s happening. He’ll try to be stupid and leave the tower before he’s ready, so don’t let him sway you with his masculine charms.”

  Delysia kissed his cheek.

  “I’ll be praying for you,” she said.

  “Thanks. I’ll need the help. And don’t you worry. Me and Brug’ll be back by dawn.”

  He waved good-bye, then climbed down the stairs to where Brug waited. The man was trying to adjust his plate mail, and grumbling all the while. Every movement he made rattled and creaked.

  “Be hard to sneak up on them with you making a ruckus,” Tarlak said, earning himself a glare.

  “You see this armor?” Brug asked. “It’s perfect. Made it myself. No dagger’s slipping between these creases. Rather be last to the fight and live, than first and dead.”

  “With how much all that weighs, there won’t be a fight left by the time you arrive anywhere.”

  Brug shrugged. “I’ll still be alive. What’s the problem?”

  Tarlak chuckled. Couldn’t argue with that.

  “You ready?”

  Brug gave his breastplate one more hard twist, then readied his punch daggers.

  “Lead the way, magic pants, or are we taking a portal?”

  “We’re walking,” Tarlak said. “I expect a long night ahead of us, and need to conserve every shred of energy.”

  Brug grunted. “Del not coming?”

  “She’s staying with Haern.”

  “So just you and me against the world, eh?” Brug asked, a cocky grin spreading across his face.

  Tarlak nodded. “Looks like I’ll have to rely on you to keep them off me. Must say, Brug, I think I miss Haern already.”

  Daverik hurried down the dark streets, his heart pounding in his chest. The sun’s descent past the walls of the city was almost complete, and when it was, everything would erupt. The very air was thick with energy, a nervous excitement tinged with fury. For four years the Watcher had ruled over the city. Four years, and all its fear, all its resentment, was about to be released in an orgy of fire, theft, and murder.

  It wasn’t that Daverik was afraid of it, though. He was a priest of Karak, and his god’s gifts were strong in him. No, he feared to miss his meeting, yet when he stumbled off Songbird Road past a shoemaker’s shop he found that he was indeed too late.

  “Damn it,” he muttered, rubbing his chin. The temple was planning on keeping out of the upcoming festivities, but Daverik knew he coul
d give orders to his faceless if he so desired. The question was, what path was the right one to take…

  “You just missed him,” said a deep voice, startling Daverik. He spun about to see Grayson leaning against the wall of the alley, mere feet away. Somehow Daverik had walked right past him without ever seeing him, something he knew should have been impossible; yet he also knew that with Grayson’s skill he could have accomplished such a trick with ease.

  “A shame,” Daverik said. “Would you care to tell me what Laerek said?”

  “About my actions tonight?” Grayson said, pushing off the wall. His hands rested comfortably on the hilts of his swords, dwarfing them with his giant fingers. “No, I won’t tell you shit. But he did tell me what your part of tonight would be, just before he ran off to hide like he always does. Such a cowardly little bugger.”

  “Laerek has need of such caution,” Daverik said, disliking the idea of such lowborn scum as Grayson criticizing a man like Laerek. “The goal we strive for is dangerous, and the lives of thousands rest on our hands.”

  “I don’t give two shits about your goals,” Grayson said. “I don’t know them, don’t want to know them. All I care about is that you do what you promised to do. The Sun Guild is taking over, and tonight will mark the beginning of the end for the piss-poor guilds that currently claim Veldaren.”

  “Exciting,” Daverik said, his voice heavy with sarcasm. “But instead let us talk about what Laerek said my orders were to be.”

  “They’re simple enough,” Grayson said, pacing a few steps in the alley toward its exit. “I have need of your faceless. A party’s going to take place in Alyssa Gemcroft’s mansion, and I plan on playing host. They’re to come with me, and help eliminate every last one of that miserable family line.”

  Daverik froze, thinking of Zusa and how she would react should Alyssa’s life be in danger. Even worse, how she’d react upon seeing one of his faceless joining in the violence.

  “No,” he said.

  “No?” asked Grayson. “Come now, we all have our orders, remember?”

  “Your orders are wrong,” Daverik said. “Alyssa was supposed to have time. Melody needs to…”

  “And speaking of Melody,” Grayson interrupted, “that’s the other sticky measure. Your faceless are to ensure she doesn’t die during all of the, well… excitement. Everyone else is fair game, but Melody needs out of there. I’m assuming she’s important, at least to you or Laerek or whoever’s actually running this game.”

  Daverik looked up and down the alley, frantically trying to think of a reason to deny the request. He didn’t want Zusa’s life in danger, and more important, he didn’t want to perform such an obvious betrayal. If he was to awaken any dormant feelings she had for him, the worst thing he could do was piss her off… or get her killed.

  “No,” he said again. “I won’t do it, Grayson. Your orders are wrong, or hasty, or unnecessary. My faceless are staying out of this.”

  It was as if a new man had come and replaced the old Grayson. His smile went dark, eyes malicious. His voice, already deep, went even deeper.

  “No, they aren’t,” he said. “Alyssa has mercenaries, lots of them, and I expect both the city guard and that idiot Victor’s men to be patrolling the streets. I need your faceless with me, need their particular talents to get past the walls. You have no say in this, no choice.”

  “You don’t command me,” Daverik said, wishing he could match the man’s booming voice.

  “Don’t I?” Grayson asked, taking a step closer. His hands had drifted back down to his swords, his fingers curling around the metal.

  “I am far from helpless,” Daverik said, and dark fire smoldered across his hands. He met Grayson’s eyes, saw the bitter amusement in them.

  “You’re not,” said Grayson. “But are you faster?”

  Daverik looked to the blades, back to his eyes, and then let the fire extinguish itself.

  “They’ll be there,” he said, letting out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding.

  “Good man!” Grayson said, and suddenly he was charming again, all smiles and white teeth. “I knew I could count on you. Just trust Laerek to know what he’s doing. He might be a young jittery bastard, but at least he’s a man with a plan, right?”

  Daverik had no desire for banter, and his face was locked in a frown as he made to leave, his mind racing for ways to somehow turn events to his desire, or even outright betray Grayson. But it seemed Grayson was no fool as to that either.

  “And Daverik,” he said, grabbing his shoulder. “Your little girls don’t show up, then I go to the temple myself. Tell me, what would the rest of your fellow priests think if I tell them who you’re working for? I’m thinking all these midnight visits wouldn’t be necessary if they approved. Am I right?”

  Daverik’s glare was answer enough. The big man laughed, pushed him away.

  “Get on out,” he said. “There’s not much time left, and I have a rabble to rouse.”

  “Have fun,” Daverik muttered, rushing back toward the temple.

  “Fun?” cried Grayson. “Trust me, my friend, if there is one thing I will be having tonight, it is wonderful, bountiful, obscene amounts of fun!”

  His laughter followed Daverik out of the alley, into the street, and all the way to the temple entrance. Each and every step, mocking, always mocking.

  CHAPTER

  15

  Haern felt the darkness peeling away into layers of dreams that came and went. Within were friends and foes, even those long dead. As the dreams faded, he realized he slumbered, and a pain in his head suddenly roared to life. Slowly he opened his eyes, almost regretting the return. His skull throbbed, and the pain in his side was frightening in its strength. He tried to remember where he was, what he was doing. He was on a rooftop, hiding from his unknown assailant. No, there weren’t any stars, so where…

  “Haern?”

  He knew that voice. Something soft and warm took his hand, and he looked down. Delysia’s hand. It was her face he saw next, tears in her eyes.

  “Del,” he said, and despite his pain, his exhaustion, he smiled. “You found me.”

  “My brother did, to be fair. How do you feel?”

  “Like I was run through by a bull. Do you have any water?”

  A moment later she handed him a glass. He tried to sit up, but the movement was unbearable. Carefully he lay back down and sipped the cold water. It felt divine on his parched throat.

  “How long?” he asked, setting it aside.

  “Almost a full day. You lost a lot of blood, as well as took a vicious hit to your head.”

  “Yeah,” Haern said, the attack replaying in his mind. “I remember that. Felt like a horse kicked me. Could hardly see straight afterward. Where’s Tarlak?”

  He saw a shadow cross over her face.

  “Don’t worry about that right now. You need to rest.”

  Haern frowned. “Something wrong? Is he all right?”

  She nodded, but still refused to say anything. He tried to think through his headache. He’d been bleeding, inches from death, by the time he fled from his attacker. What was the reason for the attack? Did the man work for the guilds, perhaps one of the three families of the Trifect? And what in blazes was Tarlak out there doing that worried Delysia so?

  “Tarlak’s not searching for the Widow,” he said. “You’d tell me that. What’s going on, Del?”

  She dipped a washcloth in a basin at her feet, then wiped his forehead. The cold water felt glorious, and he tried to relax as she dipped it again, this time moving it across his neck.

  “The man who attacked you,” she said hesitantly. “His name is Grayson. He told all the guilds that he’d killed you, and they believed him.”

  Haern felt his blood chill.

  “How bad is it out there?” he asked.

  She shook her head, clenched her teeth. Into the basin went the washcloth.

  “I can see the fires from the window,” she said. “Beyond
that… I don’t know.”

  Haern curled his hands into fists. As his heart pounded, a bright light flashed across his eyes, and his headache intensified tenfold. He clenched his eyes shut, let out a gasp. Immediately Delysia’s hands were upon his face, still cold from the water. He heard whispers of a prayer, and a distant ringing of an unearthly bell. Waiting out the pain, he focused on her touch, until at last her fingers pulled away, and the pain with them.

  “I know you were stabbed deep,” he heard her say. “But the blow to your head worries me more. I never saw this when at the temple, but I did hear of warriors who suffered symptoms such as yours. It can last for days, if not weeks or months. You need to rest. I’ll do what I can, I promise.”

  The thought of enduring such headaches, of feeling that pain throbbing from the top of his head down to his feet for weeks, was horrifying. He remembered how when he was fighting Grayson his balance had consistently eluded him, and at times his vision had even gone blank. How could he be the Watcher under such a handicap? How could he tame the chaos Tarlak was out there struggling against while he lay there stricken?

  “He was right,” Haern said, his voice a harsh whisper. “Damn it, he was right.”

  “Who?” she asked.

  “Victor. He said this would happen. He knew I’d fail like this one day. He knew it. I was a fool to think I could control them. To think I could do this forever.”

  A sudden cough hit him, and he turned to one side. Each sharp breath hurt, and he coughed louder, harder. He spit blood across his white sheets, the rest dribbling down his lip.

  “Shit,” Haern said, seeing it. He lay back down and closed his eyes as he felt the beginning of another headache forming. Tears swelled, and he was too sick to stop them. Delysia’s cloth went back to work, cleaning away the blood, even dabbing at his tears.

  “What am I doing?” he wondered aloud. “Was it ever right?”

  “It isn’t my place to tell you,” Delysia said. “But I don’t think you’re a fool. I don’t think you’re a failure. You’re allowed to err, Haern. No one would believe you human otherwise.”