The Shadowdance Trilogy Page 36

  His outstretched hand pressed against the wall. Feeling a bit of hope, he turned and kept his hand near, occasionally brushing it with his fingertips. When he touched a door, he felt like shouting for joy. His fingers found the doorknob, and yet again he wanted to cheer. The doorknob was cool. He flung it open and dashed up the stairs, wishing he could somehow alert Senke to follow. Smoke followed him up, and wishing there was another way, he slammed the door shut behind him.

  The attic was dim, but the few windows let in enough light for him to see. Most were small, but near the back he saw a giant round circle of glass that seemed most inviting. Haern could almost imagine the cool air rushing on the outside of it, and he wanted to dive in as if it were water. Piles of discarded armor, old relics of family generations long past, filled the room. Haern weaved about them, all the while wondering when Senke would arrive.

  He was halfway to the window when it shattered. A slender woman flew through the shards, landing with a roll along the floor. Haern stared, vaguely recognizing her. She wore the colors of the Ash Guild, but he couldn’t place her. She looked about, still struggling to adjust to the darkness. He thought to hide from her, but then he saw her face, her mutilated eye, and knew her name.

  “Veliana?” he asked, remembering standing at his father’s side as they tried to force her to overthrow her guildmaster and take control.

  At the sound of her name, the woman spun, her dagger already drawn.

  “You sound too young to be one of the thieves,” Veliana said. “What is your name, child?”

  “Haern,” he answered. He took a step toward her, still trying to decide if she were dangerous or not. With everyone trying to flee the mansion, it seemed odd someone would actually try to break in.

  Veliana looked a bit disappointed, but then she spotted him standing behind a large crate of wrapped wool. Her whole body tensed. Her mouth curled into a sneer.

  “Liar,” she said. “You’re Thren’s child. You think I’d forget a single shred of that moment?”

  Haern shook his head.

  “Aaron is dead. Leave me be. His sins are mine no more.”

  Veliana laughed.

  “The world doesn’t work that way. Your father’s killed everyone I’ve ever cared for. Turn back and die in the fire, or draw your dagger and fight me.”

  Haern glanced back to the stairs. Smoke had begun pouring thick through its edges and underneath. Already the heat seeped through the wood floor. Still no sign of Senke, and Haern tried not to think of what had befallen him.

  “Don’t do this,” Haern whispered. The roar of flame, the screams of battle, and Veliana’s own angry shout as she lunged drowned out his words. Her dagger thrust straight for his neck. Haern batted it aside with his own, then swept his right foot around in an arc. She leapt over it, her knee ramming forward. His head snapped backward as the knee collided with his face. Blood splattered the inside of his mask.

  Staggering, his head still swimming from the smoke and heat, Haern went fully defensive. Veliana’s dagger slashed and cut, and despite any openings he might have seen, he refused to try for them. He parried and spun, slowly weaving his way about the great piles of junk. The air grew murky and gray from the smoke, much of it starting to pour out the broken window.

  “Leave me be!” he shouted as he crossed his daggers and blocked a vicious downward chop. His elbows shook at the impact, and momentarily distracted by the closeness of her face and the hideousness of her eye, Veliana successfully tripped him with a kick. As he fell he rolled, avoiding her downstrike. He turned and darted throughout the attic, frantically dashing for the window.

  Veliana raced him back, her dagger still eager for blood. She reached the window first, but not in enough time to prepare correctly. Haern leapt, slamming his shoulder into hers. As she was pushed back, his daggers curled around her sides, slicing into flesh. Blood spilled down from her ribs, across her tunic and pants. Screaming in pain, Veliana whirled. When Haern ducked her high kick, he found a dagger waiting for him low. He twisted, but not fast enough. The dagger slashed across his shoulder, tearing open a huge gash in his shirt. Blood poured down his arm, the pain terrible, but Haern never let it slow him. His opponent had just scored her first true hit. That was when she was most vulnerable, her confidence soaring with the minor victory.

  His foot whirled about him, his left arm flinging his cloak upward to hide his movements. Veliana lost her balance and fell to one knee, letting out a small cry from the harsh landing. Haern’s cloak whipped her face, and when she pushed back to see, Haern was there, his fist leading. He punched her throat with all his strength.

  Gasping for air, she fell back, holding her dagger out in a meager defense. Haern cut her knuckles to weaken her grip, then slapped the dagger away. Veliana glared with her one good eye as she coughed.

  “Aaron is dead,” he told her, breathing heavily as his daggers shook in his hands, one of its tips aimed straight for her throat. “Why can’t you see that?”

  “You’re him,” Veliana said with a cracking voice. “You can’t hide. You’re just a coward.”

  Haern shook his head sadly.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “But you’re wrong.”

  He rammed the butt of his dagger against the top of her skull, knocking her out cold. As she slumped to the ground, Haern stuck his head out the window to take a look. A massive crowd gathered about, a mixture of guards, onlookers, and desperate neighbors organizing bucket brigades to ensure the mansion’s fire didn’t spread. In that chaos, he could certainly slip away.

  Behind him he heard Veliana moan softly. Haern sighed. At the side of his father, he’d left her for dead. He couldn’t do so again, not while claiming to be a better person. The fire was already crawling its way up the stairs, its smoke billowing. He had five minutes, maybe ten.

  Knowing her cloak and colors would doom her, Haern stripped her down to her undergarments. He searched the crates, holding his cloak over his mouth as he did. Once he found a blanket of sufficient length he dragged it over to Veliana and tied one corner to her wrists. The other half he wrapped around his arm and prayed for the best. If Veliana was lucky, she’d survive the fall, and those who found her would assume her a frantic house servant fleeing the fire after hiding in the attic. If not, well…

  He almost left her for the calm, quiet death to the smoke. Almost.

  “We’re even,” he whispered as he pushed her body out the window. He braced his feet against the wall and held on with all his might. The cloth pulled tight, and he let a bit of it unspool before clamping down again. He nearly went flying out with her, he so badly underestimated the pull. About halfway down she stopped, and he hoped that was close enough. He let go of the cloth, then counted to three before looking.

  A couple of onlookers were gathered around her. It appeared someone had caught her. He couldn’t hear their voices from so far, but he saw them pointing to her face, and one man beside her shook his head, his face a mixture of anger and pity. Haern sighed. The wounds, blood on her wrists, and tattered clothing told them a story they expected from such a wreckage. Now for his own safety. Haern kicked out a last few shards of glass, stood on the edge of the window, and pulled himself up to the roof.

  From there he leapt a nearby tree, slid down, and vanished in the mob.

  He’d thought it’d be harder to locate a member of the Spider Guild, but it ended up rather insultingly easy. Torgar caught sight of a gray cloak while riding east through the city. The man was clearly in a hurry, so much so that he wasn’t taking any precautions to avoid being followed. Torgar laughed as he rode after him down the narrow alley. The Spider turned at the sound of hoof steps, but far too late. Torgar leapt off, cracking him atop the head with his fists. The rogue crumpled like an unhooked straw man.

  Torgar dragged him further out of view from the main road, then pushed him against a wall. He pinched the man’s nose shut and then slapped him a few times until he lurched awake.

  “Hush now,�
� Torgar said, putting a hand over the man’s mouth and then using it to shove him hard against the wall. “I don’t want to start cutting pieces off you already.”

  The Spider paled a little and nodded. Torgar chuckled.

  “Good,” he said, drawing his sword and resting it across his knees. “You just remember I got this, alright, and things will go well for everyone involved.”

  “What do you want from me?” the man asked as Torgar removed his hand.

  “Your name, first off,” Torgar said.

  “Tobias.”

  “Well, Tobias,” Torgar said, “now that I know your name, how about I get to know a few more things? For starters, where you were rushing off to in such a big hurry?”

  Tobias shut his mouth and purposefully looked away. Torgar rolled his eyes. He struck the Spider with his fist, grabbed his arm, and then buried his sword through the palm of Tobias’s hand. As Tobias screamed, Torgar shoved his hand over his mouth and slammed his head back.

  “Listen closely, dumbass,” Torgar said. “You ever heard of the Blood Riders? They’re stationed out of Ker, carry quite a reputation in the west?”

  Tobias’s eyes widened at the mention of their name.

  “Oh good, you have heard of them,” Torgar said. “You know what their favorite method of torture is? They take four of their horses, one for each arm and leg, and then tie a rope securing you from saddle to wrist or ankle. After that, it’s off to the races. You should see how much blood can splatter into the air when those ropes pull tight.”

  Torgar shoved his face into Tobias’s and then grinned.

  “I used to be a Blood Rider, you goathumper. See my horse over there? I may have only one, but you’d be surprised what I can do with a little bit of rope.”

  Cold sweat covered Tobias’s body. Torgar ground his sword around a little, then pulled it out. Then he removed his hand and asked his question again. This time he got an answer.

  “Soldiers attacked us at Connington’s,” Tobias said. “I was outside the complex when they came. I hoped to find Thren and warn him.”

  Torgar glanced east where a giant plume of smoke stretched to the night sky.

  “I think he might already know,” Torgar said. “Let’s try for something that I wouldn’t find out on my own in the next five minutes. Your guildmaster has someone special, very special. Do you know who I’m talking about?”

  Tobias’s look showed he clearly did.

  “Don’t ask,” the Spider said. “Please, don’t ask. Thren will kill me if I tell.”

  “I’ll kill you twice as bad,” Torgar growled.

  Tobias actually laughed.

  “You think you’re more frightening than Thren?” he asked. “Go ahead. Use your damn horse. I won’t tell.”

  Torgar sighed. He’d thought for a moment he’d avoided torture. Oh well. At least it was something he was good at.

  All it took was ten minutes. He left Tobias holding his intestines in his hands.

  “You’re right, Thren may kill you,” Torgar said as he mounted his horse. “But you really should have talked.”

  He rode back to the main street and then hurried east, the clomp of his horse’s feet on the dirt a soothing pattern. The directions were simple, the safehouse plain and poorly guarded. From what Tobias had told him, Thren didn’t have any men to spare on his glorious night. Torgar snorted. Well, he’d play his part in tarnishing that old bastard’s glory. So far the smoke seemed focused on Connington’s. Hopefully his own master’s place had survived intact.

  The house appeared the same as any other, with a small door in the front center, no windows, and a slanted roof of wood and clay. Torgar rode a few more houses down, dismounted, and then tied his horse’s reins to the handle of a door. The mercenary captain drew his sword, kissed the blade, and ran. He slammed into the door at full speed, throwing his shoulder into it. The wood cracked and splintered.

  “Shit!” Torgar heard a man shout from within. Knowing he had little time, he flung his weight against it again. The door burst open, revealing two men of the Spider Guild standing with their daggers drawn. Madelyn lay slumped in the corner, unmoving. Another woman lay beside her. Torgar desperately hoped neither were dead. He had no intention of falling on his sword, but by the gods, he didn’t want to spend the rest of his days fleeing from Laurie Keenan, either.

  “Come on, then!” Torgar roared, swinging his sword in a wildly exaggerated arc. “Let’s have a fight, eh?”

  One of the Spiders fell for the bait, lunging inward when Torgar should have been vulnerable. Instead a meaty fist crushed his face, his movement anticipated. When he collapsed, the longsword pierced through his shoulder and tore free, severing bone and spilling his blood across the floor. The remaining man glanced at Madelyn, clearing thinking to use her as a hostage. Torgar never gave him the time. He rushed the thief, not at all afraid of his small dagger. He had range, skill, and sheer brute strength.

  Accepting a stab to the shoulder, Torgar returned the favor. His sword punched through the Spider’s chest and out his back, pinning him to the wall. The mercenary captain grabbed the man’s head with his hands, headbutted him, and then twisted violently. When he yanked his sword free, the man fell to the ground dead.

  “Gyah,” Torgar said, yanking the dagger out of his shoulder and examining it. The side was serrated, and sure enough, he’d felt it. “Mean little prick,” he said, tossing the dagger back atop the body. Taking in a deep breath, he turned and lifted Madelyn’s body.

  She was breathing.

  “Must be my lucky night,” Torgar said. He stole a long kiss from Madelyn, then exited the home. He untied his reins, slung Madelyn over his shoulders, and then mounted his horse. Sighing, he dismounted and retrieved the other unconscious lady. She looked highborn, so he figured Laurie could puzzle out who she was. No matter what, Torgar felt confident he was ruining Thren’s plans, and that alone made it worthwhile. The stranger on his shoulder, and Madelyn curled in his lap like a child, Torgar snapped the reins and rode back toward Keenan’s wagons, hoping to catch up before they gained too much distance between them and Veldaren.

  “Happy fucking Kensgold, Thren,” Torgar said as he rode out the city gates and into the night air.

  “Hope you had as much fun tonight as I have.”

  29

  Thren had seen the smoke rising as he and Kayla returned from watching the Kensgold to ensure its disbandment. By the time they reached the city, there was no questioning its source. The Connington estate was on fire.

  “What would have made the damn fools start so early?” Thren wondered, his voice carrying a hard edge. “Leon isn’t anywhere near the city!”

  “Perhaps they encountered more resistance than we did at Maynard’s?” Kayla asked.

  Thren shook his head.

  “Whatever the reason, we need to hurry to the Gemcroft estate. If Connington’s is already burning, there’s little we can do there. Damn it! I had such wonderful plans to make him pay for Will’s death. At the very least, I need Maynard to die tonight.”

  They ran side by side, both panting from the exertion. When he reached the mansion, he saw a few of the Wolf Guild scattered about, keeping an eye on the roads. Cynric stood in one of the windows of the nearby homes. He cupped his hands to his mouth and howled.

  “That man needs his head nailed tighter to his neck,” Thren mumbled. The two of them hurried through the door to find the guildmaster waiting.

  “We’ve seen the smoke,” Cynric said. “Do you know anything about it? We hoped for a runner or two to clarify, but no one’s showed.”

  “We know as little as you then,” Thren said. “Damn. At least we know their mansion is destroyed. Have you seen anything here?”

  “Not a hint of prey,” Cynric said. “Rather boring, really. We almost went to join the feast at Connington’s. Hopefully you’ll remember that when the killing starts. We deserve a leader’s share.”

  Thren left the house, Kayla trailing after him
. He walked through the open gate and into the mansion. Kadish was waiting for them.

  “I was wondering when you’d return,” the man said. “I’ve been wanting a straight answer about what to do with him.”

  He pointed to where James Beren lay slumped against a wall, his arms and legs bound tight. His eyes were open, but his mouth was gagged. Thren tilted his head as he thought.

  “Is the Ash Guild broken?” he asked.

  “We’ve killed all but a few,” Kadish said. “We’ll hunt down who we can, but most will just sign on with other guilds, including mine. They’re done.”

  “Good.” Thren turned to James and drew his sword. Kneeling down, he removed the gag from his mouth and smiled.

  “Do you see what happens when you resist me?” he asked. James nodded, his face bruised and purple. Thren stood and looked to the many members of both the Spider and Hawk guilds standing about. “Do you all see what happens when you resist me?”

  They nodded. In response, Thren turned and rammed his shortsword through one of James’s eyes. His face locked in a vicious snarl, Thren twisted the blade and then yanked it free. Gore splattered across the floor.

  “Do you see now?” he asked them.

  He cleaned the blade, sheathed it, and then turned to Kadish.

  “Get your men ready,” he said. “The Wolf Guild will surround them and cut off any retreat once they’re within the outer gate. We’ll crush them between us, all of them. We end this tonight!”

  Kayla followed him back outside as he walked toward the gate’s exit.

  “Where are you going now?” she asked.

  “To get my son,” he said. “The priests should be done with him by now. I want him to watch our victory.”

  “But Maynard may already approach,” Kayla insisted. “We don’t have time for you to go looking for him.”