A Dance of Blades (2 page)

“Let me be the one in the shadows,” Zusa said, smiling. “That way you are safe, for no assassin can hide there beside me.”

Alyssa gestured for her friend to sit. Zusa refused, but Alyssa took no offense. It was just one of the skilled lady’s many quirks. The woman had rescued her from rape and torture years before, and then helped protect her estate from Thren’s plans. She owed her life to Zusa, so if she wanted to stand instead of sit, she was more than welcome.

“Did you hear everything?” Alyssa asked.

“Everything of worth. The old man is scared. He tries to be the rock in a storm, to survive by doing nothing until it passes.”

“Sometimes a sound strategy.”

Zusa smirked. “This storm will not pass, not without action. Not with
his
cowardly action. You know what Bertram wants. He wants you bedded and yoked to another man. Then your womanly passions may be safely ignored, and he can rule through your husband.”

“Bertram has no desire for power.”

Zusa lifted an eyebrow. “Can you know for sure? He is old, but not dead.”

Alyssa sighed and drained the rest of her glass.

“What should I do?” she asked. She felt tired, lost. She badly missed her son. She’d sent Nathaniel north to Felwood Castle, to foster with Lord Gandrem. At least there he was safe from the thief guilds, and the training he received would help him later in life.

“Bertram’s question…are there any you have taken a fancy to?” Zusa asked.

Alyssa shrugged.

“Mark Tullen was attractive, though his station is probably lower than Bertram would prefer. At least he was willing to talk to me instead of staring down my blouse. Also, that noble who runs our mines, Arthur something…”

“Hadfield,” Zusa said.

“That’s right. He’s pleasant enough, and not ugly…little distant, though. Guess that’s just a product of being older.”

“The older, the less likely to cavort with other women.”

“He’s more than welcome to,” Alyssa said. She stood and turned away, trying to voice a silent fear she’d held onto for years, a fear that had strangled her relationships and kept her unmarried. “But any child we have…that will become the Gemcroft heir. Too many will shove Nathaniel aside, deem him unfit, unworthy. I can’t do that to him, Zusa. I can’t deny him his right. He’s my firstborn.”

She felt Zusa’s arms slip around her. Startled by the uncommon display of emotion, she accepted the hug.

“If your son is strong, he will claim what is his, no matter what the world tries,” she said. “Do not be afraid.”

“Thank you,” Alyssa said, pulling back and smiling. “What would I do without you?”

“May we never find out,” Zusa said, bowing low.

Alyssa waved her off, then retreated to her private chambers. She stared out the thick glass window, beyond her mansion’s great walls, to the city of Veldaren. She found herself hating the city, hating every dark corner and crevice. Always it conspired against her, waiting with poison and dagger to…

No. She had to stop thinking like that. She had to stop letting the thief guilds control every aspect of her life through force and fear. So she sat at her desk, pulled out an inkwell and piece of parchment, and paused. She’d sent Nathaniel away to protect him, to be fostered with a good family. Not so long ago, her father had done the same, and she remembered her anger, her loneliness, and her feelings of betrayal. Once more she understood her father in a way she never had before. He really had hidden her because he loved her, not to get her out of the way like she once thought.

Still, how angry she’d been when she returned…

Her decision made, she dipped the quill in the ink and began writing.

My dear lord Tullen,
she began.
I have a request for you involving my son, Nathaniel…

1

B
iggs kept watch at the door while the rest of the Hawk Guild cleared away the bodies.

“How many will be with him?” asked one as he wrapped one in its dark gray cloak.

“Depends,” said Biggs.

“On what?”

Biggs rolled his eyes. “On who is coming. If it’s Veliana, only a handful. If it’s Garrick, though…maybe twenty.”

The other thief’s face twitched at that. There were only ten of them weaving through the empty tables and quiet furnaces of the smith’s workplace.

“So what do we do if it’s him?”

Biggs turned, grabbed his shirt and yanked him close.

“I didn’t betray my guild and execute my friends so you can turn tail and run,” he said. His knife was in his hand, and he pressed it against the shaking thief’s belly. “We hide, and we kill. You know how to do that, right?”

Biggs shoved him away and turned back to the door. They still had ten minutes until the expected rendezvous, but it wouldn’t surprise him if either showed up early. He’d worked the deal himself, a supposed trade between the Hawks and the Ash involving a powder hallucinogen that many nobles had taken a fancy to. The money was absurd, by far the best score for the ailing Ash Guild in over a year. And now his former guildmates lay dead, and once their leaders fell, Biggs knew he would take control. The Hawk’s guildleader, Kadish Vel, had promised it.

“Into position,” said the present highest ranking member of the Hawks, a thin man named Kenny, whose nasally voice annoyed Biggs to no end. “And for the love of the gods, keep it quiet.”

Kenny slid beside Biggs and glanced up and down the dark streets.

“You sure they’re coming?” he asked.

“I know what I’m doing,” Biggs said, glaring. “A deal this big needs one of the two leaders to show. I hope it’s Garrick, but it’ll probably be Veliana. Not a bad thing, though. She’s the scary one, could kill Garrick in a clean fight, and even easier in a dirty one. Not sure why she hasn’t taken control yet, but I ain’t giving her time to change her mind. If she’s the one, you make sure you get her first.”

Kenny lifted his small, custom crossbow and winked.

“I’ve shot the nipple off a whore at twenty yards,” he said.

“Bastard. What’d she do to you?”

Kenny laughed. “After that? She did everything I asked, of course.”

Biggs chuckled despite himself and their need for quiet.

“Remind me to never…”

He stopped, for he heard a scream from the other side of the building.

“What the fuck?” asked Kenny, spinning about. “The Ash send more scouts?”

“Doubt it,” said Briggs. “Watch the door. I’ll take care of this.”

He tightened his grip on his dagger and ran through a maze of anvils and firepits. While the full moon kept the streets bright, inside the smithy was dark and confusing. He heard a second scream, and when he turned toward it he smacked his knee into the edge of an anvil. He sucked his breath in through his teeth and tried to ignore the pain.

“What’s going on?” he asked, deciding stealth and silence were pointless with the Hawks howling bloody murder. He heard the sound of scuffling, then rattling of weaponry. When he reached where the shop opened up into various displays of blades, hilts, and machinery, he stopped. There was another door in the back, and it was open. Moonlight shone through, falling upon bodies that lay crumpled about. At first Biggs thought them Ash guildmembers, but then he saw their cloaks and knew otherwise. Standing over them was a man.

“Who the fuck are you?” asked Biggs.

The man looked up and smiled. His skin was dark, and his long hair darker. He wore the red robes of a wizard, though he held a dagger in hand instead of a staff. Blood dripped from its edge. Covering his features was a mask of gray cloth pulled tight across his face, with two large slits to allow sight. His brown eyes sparkled with amusement.

“I have no name,” said the intruder with blood on his hands. “But if Karak asks who sent you to his Abyss, tell him the Council’s reaper, the outcast, or the dark man in red.”

He was chuckling, and the sound raised the hairs on the back of Biggs’s neck.

“You’re crazy,” he said. “You know who you just killed? You’ll have the fury of the Hawk Guild come down on you.”

He was blustering, of course. He’d made a quick count of the bodies, and knew that besides him and Kenny, only two others remained alive in the smithy. Still, he couldn’t act weak. It took all his concentration to keep the dagger from shaking in his hand.

The stranger made a flicking motion, flinging tiny globs of blood. Biggs swore as they flecked across his shirt and pants.

“They have to know I exist first,” he said, snapping his fingers.

The blood caught fire, burning as if it were lamp oil. The heat came sudden and intense. Biggs fought an impulse to drop and roll. Magic fire would not snuff out so easily. As he felt his flesh burn, he lunged, his dagger aiming for the stranger’s chest. Before he could reach, the man fled, still laughing, still mocking. Instead of chasing, Biggs turned and ran for the other entrance.

“Kenny!” he shouted. “Get your ass back...”

It seemed his own shadow tripped him. There was no other way to describe the strange sight and sensation. His head cracked against an anvil on the way down, and the sudden pain disorientated him beyond all measure. His stomach heaved, and he thought he would vomit. When he got to his feet, he bolted, not knowing if it was the right way or not. He didn’t care. He had to move; he had to escape that terrible man who could burn blood with a snap of his fingers.

“Gods, Biggs!” cried Kenny as he plowed right into him. Biggs clutched him to remain standing, and this time he did vomit. The mess splattered across Kenny’s shoes, but to Kenny’s credit, he didn’t bat an eye.

“Kill him,” Biggs said, turning and pointing.

The stranger approached, his dagger still in hand.

“You have but a few left,” he said as the blood upon his blade burned like embers fresh from a hearth. The light danced across his masked face, casting an orange haze over the gray. Biggs stepped back, doing his best to ignore the pain of his burns and the throbbing of his head.

“What, to kill you?” asked Kenny. “All we need is me.”

He lifted his crossbow and fired. The bolt bounced off as if the stranger’s skin were made of stone.

“A spellcaster?” said Kenny. “Damn it, Biggs, what shit did you get us in to?”

The man’s grin spread, but he didn’t laugh. It seemed the time for laughter was over. A gleam shone in his eye, like a predator ready to pounce upon its prey. From either side, two more thieves rushed from their hiding places. Kenny laughed, and Biggs realized it had been a trap all along, prepared while he ran headlong like a fool to see the reason for the commotion. The two thieves stabbed, but their daggers struck only cloth. The stranger twisted and fell, avoiding both blows. When he hit the ground, his hands became a blur of strange motions. An explosion of fire blinded Biggs’s vision in the darkness, and then he heard the screams.

“Don’t worry,” Kenny said as Biggs took a step forward, doing his best to ignore the charred corpses before him. “I keep this baby for special occasions like this.”

Biggs saw him pull a bolt out from one of his many pockets, its tip glistening with silver. The stranger rolled along the floor until safely hidden behind a giant hearth. Kenny took a wide step around, trying to get a clear shot.

“What are they paying you for?” Kenny asked. “Wizards aren’t supposed to get involved with mundane affairs, and they sure as shit aren’t supposed to hire out as assassins. What’s your game?”

“No game.” Biggs kept close to Kenny, standing opposite his trigger-arm and keeping his dagger ready in case the stranger charged. “And I am no wizard.”

“A necromancer then?” Kenny asked. “What’s this to you?”

Another side-step, each one slow and careful. Just as Kenny prepared his crossbow, so too could he be preparing a spell.

“Not a necromancer. How are you so blind? You, the lowest rung of the world’s ladder, cannot see what I am?”

“Enough riddles. What’s your name, and your price?”

“Out of everything, you ask name and price?” the stranger said, suddenly stepping from the shadows and into their line of sight.

The bolt fired. Biggs saw Kenny shift the crossbow to the side, just the slightest amount as if anticipating a dodge. None came. The stranger let the bolt hit him, and it pierced into his shoulder just below his collarbone. He gasped at the pain, leaned forward, and then to Biggs’s horror, steadied himself and stood erect.

“Name…price…I have neither.”

“Reload!” Biggs shouted, stepping between them and holding his dagger out. Fire danced in the stranger’s eyes, then to his hands. Knowing he had to buy his ally time, Biggs let out a curse and dashed in, swinging for the man’s neck. He never made it. The fire consumed his clothes, its heat beyond anything he’d ever felt. His legs refused to obey. As he collapsed, he looked back, hoping Kenny would at least kill the bastard who’d done him in, but of course the rogue was long gone, running like the intelligent coward he was.

“You died for nothing,” he heard the stranger say as the pain vanished amid a wave of darkness. His voice echoed in the chambers of his mind, slowly fading, slowly dying.

“Nothing…”

V
eliana led them down the alleyway, her daggers sheathed at her hip. Still, her hands never strayed far from their hilts. Something about this meeting felt worrisome. Perhaps it was the great amount of coin about to change hands. Ever since James Beren’s death, things had gone poorly for the Ash Guild. James had been more than their leader: he’d been a sign of stability during the chaos and bloodshed. He’d died defying Thren Felhorn, and while in a nobler world that might have meant something, in theirs it brought about the near dissolution of the guild.

“Hurry,” she whispered, ushering the rest of her guildmates along. They were at the very edge of their pitifully small territory. The last thing she needed was an ambush. Even if they fought if off, the delay might be enough to disrupt their sale. They were supposed to meet a wealthy, and eccentric, merchant from Ker. All it’d take was a few minutes of fret and worry before he took his things and left.

Assuming the men she’d sent in advance let the merchant leave.

They curved through the streets, which narrowed because of the stalls that sprang up along the sides. They were passing many leatherworks and metal smiths. Almost there. She stopped at an intersection with a main road leading toward the castle, looked about for patrols, and then continued on when she saw none. The sky was clear and bright, but still the chill seeped through her clothes and into her skin. She hated winter. It made her hurry, made her spend only four seconds checking a turn when she should spend five. If she were to make any prediction, it’d be that when she was buried, it’d be when the ground was cold and hard. Assuming she was buried at all. Given her life, even that was far from a given.

“We’re here,” she said. A quick set of instructions sent two around to the other side, and then the remaining six followed her through the main door. She let one of her guildmembers, Pryor, go first, just in case there was a trap. When she heard him gasp, she thought it so, and she drew her daggers. But instead, she heard her name.

“Vel?”

She followed Pryor in and surveyed the area.

A man waited for them. He sat atop a large crate, presumably their red powder for the deal. His body bent over as if greatly burdened. He wore red robes stained with ash and blood. His skin was dark, and his hair darker. In one hand he held a dagger, the other, a long piece of gray cloth. When he lifted his head, she stared into his brown eyes and saw a combination of fury and hopelessness that frightened her. He was handsome, but she felt no attraction. How could she, seeing a gaze like that?

All around him, burned to ash and bone, were bodies.

“What is going on?” she asked, stunned by the sight.

“You were betrayed,” said the strange man. “One of your own helped kill the others so they might prepare an ambush.”

“Who?” Veliana asked.