A Dance of Shadows Read online

  Thren was on his feet in a heartbeat, short swords drawn.

  “Say it,” he said, ice in his voice. “Say what you’ve always wanted to say, so I can kill you.”

  “Say what?” Grayson asked, purposefully putting his back to Thren and walking to the exit. “That you killed my sister? I would if it was true, but it ain’t.”

  He stopped at the door, no one having the courage to get in his way. He looked over his shoulder, gave Thren one last smirk.

  “She killed herself the day she married you.”

  The door slammed shut behind him, and Grayson laughed. It’d been so long, he’d forgotten how great it felt to raise the ire of one so focused and controlled. But his humor hid the scars that Grayson himself had nearly forgotten. His poor Marion, in love with that fool. Now she was dead, and both her sons as well. All because of Thren.

  It would be such a pleasure killing him.

  Entertaining the image of himself plunging his sword through Thren’s throat, Grayson made his way toward the southern district. He might be late, but that was of little concern to him. The others would not leave. They’d need to hear how things had gone down. Whistling a tune, he cut through the alleys until he reached Songbird Road. Keeping an eye out for the stores, when he saw the shoemaker’s place he stepped into the alley beside it, all smiles to the two men who waited there for him.

  “Your women performed admirably,” Grayson told Daverik, who glared at him. “Granted, four went in, and only two came out, but they got my friends past the gates and that’s all that really mattered.”

  “A foolish waste,” Daverik said, turning to the other man there with them. “And an order that never should have been given.”

  The man was a young and scrawny priest named Laerek. He wore plain brown pants and a white shirt, the only thing revealing his priestly nature being the necklace of the Lion that hung around his neck. His face flushed red, and at Daverik’s glare he looked away. Grayson shook his head, hardly able to believe he was stuck taking orders from such a pip-squeak. The man was twitchy, never able to sit still. During their meetings his eyes were always flitting to the exits, the windows above, the rooftops. Gods, he’d probably give the moon a sideways glance if he thought there might be people watching from atop its pale glow.

  “I only follow the commands sent to me,” Laerek said. “Commands you yourselves agreed to follow, so do not take your anger out on me.”

  “Come now,” Grayson said, putting his arm around Laerek. The man flinched at the touch. “You shouldn’t be upset. I’d say tonight went fairly well.”

  “Was Alyssa killed?” Laerek asked.

  “Of course not,” Daverik said. “Zusa protected her from my faceless, and then Victor arrived with the Eschaton. Together they chased away the rioters.”

  “Don’t forget the Ash Guild,” Grayson added.

  “Indeed,” Daverik said coldly. “Yet another foe my faceless would have better served removing.”

  “Please,” Laerek said, pulling away from Grayson. “I know this is difficult, but you two knew the dangers when we started. Right now we must adapt to the situation at hand until I receive new orders. Grayson, tell me, who now remains the largest threat to your guild’s take-over?”

  Grayson crossed his arms, pretended to think even though the question wasn’t difficult in the slightest.

  “I’ll be bringing in the crimleaf next,” he said. “Doing that puts us at our most vulnerable, and out of everyone that threatens my plan, the Ash Guild is the most dangerous. They’re unpredictable, powerful, and led by a madman. Beyond that, there’s Lord Victor, who’s proving both persistent and meddlesome. Oh, and the Eschaton Mercenaries. They showed last night the danger they pose if left unchecked.”

  Laerek bobbed his head up and down.

  “So be it then. I didn’t want to, but I must. I must.”

  Something about his tone worried Grayson, so he refused to let the matter die.

  “Must what?” he asked.

  Laerek met his eyes, looked away.

  “The Bloodcrafts are currently in my master’s employ. They’ve been waiting just outside the city.”

  Grayson let out a whistle.

  “You brought those crazy bastards all the way from Mordeina? Must be more desperate than I thought.”

  For once the young priest was able to look in his eyes. For once Grayson saw the fear that drove him to their clandestine meetings, the faith that gave him the nerve to withstand being in the presence of the Sun Guild’s second-most notorious killer.

  “What we do, we do not just for Veldaren,” he said. “All the world will never know the debt they will owe to us three if we succeed.”

  Grayson shrugged. He had no idea what their little goals were, but so long as his Sun Guild got to move into the city and take away all the wealth and power of its thief guilds, he was happy to play along.

  “And if we fail?” he asked, mostly out of amusement.

  “Then the world suffers and dies in darkness,” Laerek said. “The Bloodcrafts will take care of the Ash Guild and the Eschaton. What about Lord Victor?”

  “Victor is a fool,” Daverik said. “Let his little crusade burn out on its own. Someone from the guilds will do our job for us and slip a bit of poison into his drink. Besides, no matter how hard he pretends, he’s a stranger to this city. It’s people like the Ash, who know its darker secrets, that we must fear first.”

  “Very well,” Laerek said. “Good night, gentlemen. Carry on as before, and meet me in six days.”

  “Wait,” Daverik said, just as Grayson and Laerek were about to leave. Grayson paused, glanced behind him as the two priests talked.

  “What of Alyssa and Zusa?” Daverik asked. “I needed more time with Zusa. She’s not ready to listen yet, not willing to remember…”

  Laerek let out a sigh.

  “Moving against Lady Gemcroft was… premature. My own fault for deciding it would be best to remove her now, when it seemed certain Grayson could overthrow the mansion during the riot. My apologies, Daverik. I will give you and Melody more time.”

  “Thank you,” Daverik said, dipping his head low. Laerek did so in return, then rushed off to go wherever it was he stayed in the city. Grayson waited until Daverik caught up with him, then bumped him with his shoulder.

  “Worried about your girlfriend?” he asked, face all teeth and smiles.

  “You’re a vile man,” Daverik said, shaking his head. “And you could never understand my worries.”

  “Understand them more than you’ll ever realize,” Grayson said, laughing. “It’s you who will never understand how simple and common your little puppy love is. Let the bitch go, and find yourself a nice whore. Keep her at your side until you can’t afford her no more, and then see how much clearer your head is afterward. You might realize you don’t quite miss Zusa so much after all.”

  The very mention of the woman’s name seemed to spark a fire in the priest, and the earned glare was all the more rewarding for it.

  “Careful,” said Daverik. “One day you will go too far.”

  “And one day I won’t be working for Laerek back there,” Grayson said. “Then we’ll see who needs to be careful. Just between you and me… I don’t think I’m the one who’ll have to watch his step. Come then, the city will be mine, the Sun Guild claiming every shred of territory. And you, well, you’ll have your four faceless. Oh, I’m sorry. Two.”

  Still laughing, he put his back to Daverik and strolled into the dark streets of Veldaren.

  Gods damn it, he thought, what a wonderful, wonderful night.

  CHAPTER

  18

  Victor looked upon his tavern and sighed with relief. He’d left only a token guard, and he’d fully expected it to be a burned heap come morning instead of safe and sound. His head ached, and his armor felt as if it weighed a thousand pounds, but the night was done, the sun had risen above the walls, and at last he might have some rest.

  “Get men sleep
ing in shifts, all that you can,” he told Sef. “We’ll need to be rested for tonight. There’s no guarantee this one will be any better than the last.”

  “Course it won’t,” Sef said. Victor thought to reprimand him for the lack of respect, then let it go. They were all exhausted, their nerves shot. Pulling off pieces of his armor, Victor strode into his tavern. Within were around thirty men and women, people given shelter for fear of the guilds. Overnight it’d been closer to a hundred crammed in there, but most had work to do and mouths to feed. Cowering all day wasn’t an option.

  A few looked his way, and he nodded to them in return. One in particular, a man with long dark hair, rose from his chair. Several of the guards reached for their weapons, but the man lifted his hands to show he was unarmed.

  “A word with Victor,” the man said. “I know things, things you’ll pay a lot to know, but I speak only to him.”

  Two of the guards were on him then, each grabbing an arm. They looked to Victor, seeking confirmation one way or the other. Victor rubbed his eyes and stepped off the stairs leading to the upper floor. His boots thudded in the crowded tavern.

  “Come over here, and tell me your name.”

  The guards brought him near. The man bowed low.

  “I won’t give you my name, not with so many near,” he said. “But for the past six years, I have served Thren Felhorn and his Spider Guild.”

  Victor glanced at the people under his protection, all watching with rapt attention. He frowned.

  “Check him thoroughly for weapons,” he told his guards. “Then send him up.”

  They saluted, and without another word Victor climbed the stairs to his room. He’d planned to change completely, but instead only removed his outer armor, leaving on the inner padding despite its stinking of sweat and blood. The washbasin had been recently filled, steam rising from the top. He washed his hands and face, the warm water feeling divine on his skin. The water was a brown mixture by the time he was done, and his door opened.

  “Well, we’re alone,” Victor said, still holding a washcloth. In its folds was a slender dagger, which he kept carefully hidden. “I assume this is when you try to kill me?”

  “Not at all,” said the man as the guards shut the door behind him. “Killing isn’t something I’m good at. Talking, really, and listening. That’s what I do. My name’s Alan. Pleasure to meet you at last, Victor. You’ve caused quite a stir.”

  Victor chuckled. “I think others have caused greater. It wasn’t my men who stormed Lady Gemcroft’s mansion last night. No, I do believe that was you.”

  Alan shrugged. “I wasn’t there myself. Told you, killing ain’t my thing.”

  Victor didn’t care if the man had been or not, and given how badly his bed was crying out for him, he had no desire to argue.

  “Why are you here, Alan?” he asked. “My time is short, and my temper shorter. Speak your mind, and then begone.”

  Victor noticed Alan held a copper coin, kept it turning between his thumb and forefinger. A nervous tic, perhaps?

  “I don’t know what you’ve been hoping to accomplish,” Alan said, “but I doubt last night was it. If Thren rallies the guilds, we’re looking at another war. That’s something I don’t want, and, truth be told, most people don’t want. But so long as everyone’s scared of Thren, well, he’ll bend people his way eventually. A few rants, a few murders, and everyone will be foaming at the mouth. He’s good at that.”

  “Make your point, thief,” Victor said, still holding the dagger tight.

  “My point? Fill my pockets with enough silver, and I’ll tell you where he is. Not just him, either. The entire guild. Everyone knows the Spider Guild is responsible for the attack on Alyssa’s. You want to stop this now, before it gets out of hand? Then pay up, and make your move.”

  Victor frowned, tried to think through his exhaustion. The man was right… the Spider Guild was widely being blamed for the attack, and there didn’t exist a parchment long enough to list all of Thren’s crimes. He’d not made any significant move on Thren yet because he’d wanted to weaken his guild first. Letting them think he’d take only small-timers in a doomed crusade had bought him precious time to slowly whittle away at their strength. But now things had come to a head, and blood soaked the streets. When he first marched into the city, he’d sworn to never work with any thief, but with such possible gain for so little…

  “Can you promise he’ll be there?” Victor asked.

  “You know I can’t,” Alan said. “But there’s a good chance. You got the guts to take it?”

  Victor felt his pride being challenged. The copper coin spun faster between Alan’s fingers.

  “I’ll pay you thirty silver now, thirty after we verify…”

  “No,” Alan said, shaking his head. “All now, or nothing. To be honest, Victor, I don’t trust you to let me be after you have what you need. You pay me, I talk, and then we never see each other again.”

  “And what prevents me from imprisoning you now, and torturing the information out of you?”

  Alan smirked. “Because that’d take far too much time. Thren’ll be on the move, and if he hears you’ve got someone from his guild being interrogated, he’ll move that much faster. Besides, if you think you can make me sell you Thren by tossing me in a cell, well, you’re a damn fool. Pay me, or watch Veldaren burn.”

  Victor rubbed the stubble growing on his face, then pushed a knuckle against his lips. At last he moved to the door, walking past Alan. If there was to be any attack, it would be now, but Alan just let him by. After a knock, the door opened, and the guard peered in.

  “Bring me a bag of silver,” Victor told him. “Sixty pieces, now hurry.”

  The guard snapped to attention. When the door shut again, Victor turned to the thief.

  “Now what?” he asked.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Alan said. “We wait.”

  And they did. Victor walked to his bed and set down the cloth and dagger. Alan paced before him, trying not to look nervous but seeming so anyway. Victor watched him at all times, still not trusting him. It burned his gut to pay for information that should have been given freely, but times were growing desperate.

  Another knock, and then a guard entered holding a brown leather bag. Victor took it, then tossed it over to Alan.

  “There,” he said. “Now talk.”

  “Corner of Iron and Wheat,” Alan said. “It’s made to look like an inn—the Thirsty Mule. Everyone should be there, recovering from last night’s debacle. Now be a man of your word, and let me pass.”

  Victor sat down on his bed, stretched his arms out at his sides.

  “Go,” he said. “But before you do… how do I know you don’t lie?”

  A faint smile tugged at the side of Alan’s mouth.

  “There’s easier ways to make money than this, Victor. Safer, too. Go to the Thirsty Mule. You won’t be disappointed.”

  Victor chuckled. His hand slipped inside the washcloth, grabbing the hilt of the dagger. With a burst of speed he caught Alan flat-footed, slamming him with his shoulder. Together they rammed against the door, the tip of Victor’s dagger pressing against the thief’s throat. Guards cried out from the other side, but Victor called them off with a word.

  “Where is Thren?” Victor screamed into his face. His dagger pressed harder against flesh, threatening to pierce it at any moment. “Where is he really?”

  “I told you where he is,” Alan insisted.

  Victor stared into his eyes, daring him to lie, to give the slightest twitch revealing his guilt.

  “One last time,” Victor said, his voice dropping. “Where… is… Thren?”

  Alan met his gaze, and he leaned closer so that the dagger drew a drop of blood.

  “Threaten all you want,” he said. “My words aren’t changing. He’s there.”

  Victor let him go, then shouted another order to his guards.

  “Get him out of here,” he said.

  Alan was all too eager
to oblige. With him gone, Victor tossed the dagger atop his dresser and then rubbed his eyes. Truth or lie… truth or lie?

  “Form an escort,” he said at last, exiting his room and kissing good-bye his morning of rest. “I need to speak with Antonil immediately.”

  Victor met Antonil in the castle courtyard, the guard captain looking as tired as Victor felt. All around them rushed servants, soldiers, and merchants, all trying to assess the damage from the previous night’s carnage and do their best to recover. Already a line stretched from one of the doors of the castle, those seeking an audience with the king.

  “Good to see you escaped last night unscathed,” Antonil said. His clothes were clean but unkempt, as if he’d dressed in a hurry. No doubt he had been trying to sleep when he’d heard of Victor’s request. As much as Victor tried to feel bad for him, he knew they had a job to do, and each of them understood the requirements of such dedication to his position.

  “A shame the rest of the city cannot say the same,” Victor said, clasping Antonil’s hand in greeting. “Please, forgive me for interrupting your morning, but I must act soon, and I need the help of your guard.”

  A note of caution entered Antonil’s words.

  “Act on what?”

  “I know where Thren is,” Victor said. “Him, and most likely the rest of his guild.”

  Antonil turned away and swore.

  “You realize what this will do,” he said.

  “I know.”

  “This isn’t some minor thief or merchant. Thren has killed kings before.”

  “And yet still he lives,” Victor said, crossing his arms.

  Antonil frowned, but could not argue that point. Pacing a few steps in either direction, he mulled over the thought.

  “What exactly do you want?” he asked at last.

  “This is something in which we cannot fail, and therefore every precaution we can take, we take. Between your city guard and my soldiers, we can seal off a dozen streets, and surround his hideout with a wall of swords and spears. Last night was the end of whatever peace Veldaren has known. Thren will not let this pass.”