Alyssa faked a smile. The cold of winter had come on strong with the approaching night, and the mercenaries had successfully begged permission to build a bonfire to ward away the cold. The bulk of the camp, minus some servants and patrolling men, was seated around that bonfire. Veldaren’s walls were in the far distance, but Alyssa felt certain that anyone walking along their breadth could spot their fire with ease.
“Here’s your music,” one sellsword shouted, following it up with loud a burp.
“Give me some more of Gunter’s cooking, and I’ll give you some music of my own,” another man shouted. Gunter, whose cooking was renowned, but his priggish attitude loathed, raised a forefinger and shook it at the mercenary. He got a finger right back, and it wasn’t the forefinger. The men around him howled with laughter, and soon a chorus of bodily noises sang in Gunter’s direction.
“I think the king should be treated to such skillful musicians,” Alyssa said, laughing in spite of her quiet mood. This earned her a chorus of cheerful agreements.
“A sign of a good leader,” Theo said, sitting on the other side of Yoren. “You inspire love in men, Alyssa. Good things surely await your rule of the Gemcroft estate.”
“A rule I may never have,” Alyssa said, the naming of her father’s house souring her smile. “But while the sun is setting and the moon rising, let us speak of more certain and happier things, such as the opening of another cask of cider!”
The mercenaries roared, and when Theo nodded in approval, they cheered.
“They wouldn’t be so boisterous if they knew what I had planned for them on the morrow,” Theo said, lowering his voice for just the three of them.
“They would,” Yoren said, “but only after an extra round of drink or two. Keeping them in the dark is cheaper.”
Theo laughed, and Alyssa laughed along, her mind racing. So far she knew little of what the two men planned. When one of their servant boys returned from the city with news that Keenan had moved the Kensgold to outside the walls, neither had been upset. In fact, they had seemed almost overjoyed.
A young woman slipped through the men, doing her best to ignore the few comments she received and the occasional grab at her body.
“Milord,” she said, bowing to Theo. “The two women are here.”
Theo sighed.
“Send them on over.”
The woman bowed and then hurried away. A minute later two of the faceless stepped into the light of the great bonfire. Neither bowed to Theo Kull upon arrival.
“Welcome back to my camp,” Theo said. “Next time, please introduce yourself to my guards, not the serving women. Shadow-walkers or not, I’d prefer you to follow protocol like every normal human being.”
“Your women argue less,” said the one on the left. Alyssa recognized her sharp voice as Zusa’s. “They also hold their tongues. Safer for all involved.”
“That wasn’t a suggestion,” Theo said, his voice hardening. Neither faceless woman reacted.
“Why are you here?” Alyssa asked, hoping to move the conversation along. She liked having the women nearby. Even though they took pay from the Kulls, they didn’t feel like a part of them. Perhaps she just enjoyed the company of someone not owned by Yoren and his father.
“We fear for Alyssa’s safety,” said Nava. “We must take her into hiding. Pelarak wants her imprisoned in the temple.”
“We’ve paid you properly,” Theo said. “Alyssa stays here with us, regardless of what your little priest says.”
“Not wise to tempt Pelarak,” Zusa said. “You are a mouse dancing before a lion.”
“Only the skull of a lion,” Yoren corrected. “And dead things don’t dance.”
Zusa laughed.
“Pelarak will make you dance,” she said. “Your bones are his toys. Your blood is his drink. Either flee or hide. Here is not safe. Give us Alyssa.”
Alyssa dared hope she could go with them. She’d forfeit her entire wealth for just one night away from Yoren and his fists. How she wished to sleep without fear of him rousing in the middle of the night, hungry for what only she could provide. With the faceless women, she would have safety.
“This is not a discussion,” Theo interrupted. Alyssa felt her hopes dash to pieces. “I will not hand over…”
A horn sounded from the north, followed by shouts. Armed intruders were at the edge of camp. Alyssa looked toward the noise. When she turned back, the faceless women were gone.
Yoren stood, his hand falling to the hilt of his sword. Theo grabbed his son’s wrist to stop him. All around them, mercenaries put down their cups and drew their blades.
A moment later, a man in leather armor came running from the north, sword in hand.
“Milord,” the man shouted. “He refused to wait, or give us his name. He killed Geoffrey, and he wears the armor of…”
He stopped when he realized the man had already arrived. The other mercenaries formed a ring around the intruder. The great bonfire burned between him and Theo.
“Greetings, tax collector,” the intruder said. Alyssa might have thought him handsome if not for the cold look in his eyes and the looping tattoos across his naked face and head. Just looking at them made her stomach queasy. He wore dark platemail, the skull of a lion emblazoned in white across his chestpiece. Fresh wounds marked his body.
“Greetings,” Theo said. “Though I’d prefer you call me by my name. Do the paladins of Karak know nothing of respect?”
“No less than the men of Riverrun,” said the paladin. “I am Ethric, and you are Theo Kull. Consider our pleasantries exchanged.” He pointed his giant sword at Alyssa. “I’ve come for Lady Gemcroft. Is this her?”
Yoren drew his sword and stepped in front of her. Before returning to Veldaren, Alyssa might have felt humbled by his chivalrous nature, but now she felt like a beautiful gem being squabbled over in the marketplace. Again she wished for the faceless women. Their offer of safety and hiding seemed all the more desirable.
“You will not touch her,” Yoren said. “Alyssa is in our safekeeping. Karak has no claim on her.”
“And you do?” Ethric asked. “Only a fool would believe himself above the desires of a god.”
“She is my betrothed,” Yoren said. Alyssa felt like vomiting.
Ethric looked to his left, then to his right, pointedly dismissing the men.
“Cover your steel, boy, or I’ll put your blood on it,” Ethric said.
“Be gone from my camp,” Theo said. “I dismiss you. You are not welcome here.”
Ethric laughed.
“I am never welcome. Last chance. Hand her over.”
“Kill him,” Yoren said.
Alyssa let out a sharp cry at the sudden eruption of blood. The two nearest mercenaries fell back, deep gashes in their chests. Their armor did nothing to slow the blade. Ethric pivoted to the side and cut down another man, his finely-crafted and god-blessed sword shattering the mercenary’s cheap iron weapon. Two more died attempting an attack, their swords clanging uselessly off Ethric’s platemail or sailing wide from an impossibly fast parry.
“Cease this!” shouted a feminine voice, with such volume and authority that both sides obeyed. Nava walked into the light of the fire, her daggers drawn and dripping shadows.
“I wondered if you would show,” Ethric said, taking a step closer and holding his sword before him. “Pelarak has ordered the disbandment of your order. You must return to the temple immediately.”
“Alyssa is under our protection,” Nava said. “Be gone, and tell Pelarak we no longer follow his command, only Karak’s.”
Hands grabbed Alyssa’s wrist. Startled, she turned to shout, but a wrapped palm covered her mouth.
“Quiet,” Zusa whispered. “Like a mouse, now follow.”
Nava crossed her daggers before her chest as Ethric took a step closer.
“I hoped you would say no,” he said. “I cherish the honor of killing another heretic. Eliora is dead, you whore. Your kind dies tonight.”
/> If Nava was upset, she did not show it. Slowly she swayed her body side to side. While Ethric watched, she cut just above her elbow and let the blood drip down onto her cloak. Like a drop of dye into clear water, the red swirled and spread across the black cloth.
“Blood for blood,” Nava said. “I’ll bury you in my cloak.”
She lunged across the fire. Her cloak whipping around her like a funnel, its length suddenly twice that of her body. When Ethric swung, his sword clanged off as if he’d struck stone.
Nava’s foot snapped out, striking his head. He rolled with the blow, ending on his knees. He swung behind him, but Nava leapt over the blade and stabbed her daggers for his neck. Ethric turned just in time, one dagger striking his chestplate, the other slashing his cheek. He rammed his fist into Nava’s gut, grinning in satisfaction at the gasping cry of pain she made.
The faceless woman somersaulted backward, her cloak twirling before him. He tried to push it aside, but he might as well have tried to push down a tree with his bare hands. Blood ran down his face, a trickle curling in at the corner of his mouth. He licked it and then spat.
“Fight me,” he shouted as the cloak slowly drifted downward. He weaved his sword side to side, smoothly shifting between stances. Then she was there, ducking and spinning beyond his sword’s edge. Normally he’d feel confident having such reach over his opponent’s daggers. The length of his blade meant nothing, however, if she could weave about it as if in a dance.
She spun full circle about him, her cloak stretching longer and longer. Laughing, Nava jumped into the air, her cloak snapping behind her. Realizing he was surrounded, and soon to be crushed, Ethric poured every bit of his power into an overhand chop. A horrific screech sounded as his blade hit the cloak. The blood-red cloth shook, cracked, and then broke like shattered steel. All around him, the red material crumpled to the dirt.
Sensing opportunity, one of Theo’s mercenaries swung at Ethric’s back. The paladin heard his approach and swung about. Fury raged in his eyes. He blocked the blow, then looped his sword underneath and upward. The mercenary crumpled to the ground, his intestines spilling from his belly like freed snakes.
Feet slammed into Ethric’s back. The remnants of the cloak wrapped around his head. The blow jerked his body forward, but his head could not move. Pain flooded his mind as his neck wrenched awkwardly. Knowing her daggers would soon follow, Ethric fell limp, his sword swinging above his shoulder. The cloak vanished as Nava retreated away.
Ethric spun on his knees, his weight resting on one hand as he gasped for air. His fight with Eliora had already drained him, and Nava was proving no easier.
“A shame,” he said, hoping to buy some time. “You could do great things for Karak with such skill.”
Nava began swaying side to side, her tattered cloak only hanging down to her waist.
“But Karak wants us dead,” Nava said. “Who is it we should pray to now?”
Ethric stood and gripped his sword. The black flame roared higher, his faith unshaken by the difficulty of the fight. He would kill the heretic. Of that, he had no doubt.
“Ask Karak when you see him,” Ethric said. He stepped toward the bonfire and suddenly punched his free hand into the flame. He was not burned. The fire turned from yellow to purple, its smoke from a deep gray to clear.
“Can you stand the heat of the abyss?” he asked as he stepped back, his left arm completely wreathed with purple flame. Nava lunged, trusting her speed. Ethric parried her first two thrusts and countered a third. When she spun about trying to get closer, he opened the palm of his burning hand. Fire exploded out as if from the mouth of a dragon. The fire swarmed over Nava’s cloak, setting it aflame.
Nava wasted no time, jumping backward and slicing off her cloak where it attached to the clasps atop her shoulders. But Ethric did not chase like she expected. Instead he stabbed his sword into the flame, turned it once, and then swung. A massive arc of fire lashed outward, catching her across the chest. All about, wagons burned and men died as the fire consumed them with frightening speed.
Faring little better, Nava dropped to a roll. Her chest throbbed in pain, and even the dirt did little to stop the burn. Ethric rushed after, and when she rolled underneath a wagon, he punched it with his fist. The fire left his arm and set the cover aflame. An upward swipe of his sword cut the rest of it in half. Nava was underneath, gasping for air and clutching her horribly burned chest. The wrappings were gone, revealing blistered skin blackened by the heat.
“Shouldn’t…have burned me,” she said with labored breaths.
“Karak has abandoned you for your heresy,” he said, his sword held in both hands, the tip touching her breast.
Nava laughed even though the movement obviously pained her.
“Alyssa is gone, you fool,” she said. “Zusa has her. You’ll never see her again.”
Ethric stabbed his sword down and twisted. When he yanked it free, he spat on her corpse. He strapped his sword to his back and returned to the bonfire. All around men were desperately tossing dirt with shovels to put out what fires they could. The rest of the mercenaries crowded before Theo and Yoren, who both stood with their swords drawn.
“Where is she?” Ethric asked as he approached. “Where is Alyssa Gemcroft?”
“Taken by the faceless,” Yoren said. “What now, paladin? Will you give chase?”
Ethric glared at them, then to the hills beyond. The last faceless woman must have fled with Alyssa while he fought. He knew he could never track her, but the royal girl was a different matter. If he hurried, he might catch up to them…
“I go for the girl,” he said. “If you want her back, then seek out Pelarak and the priests of Karak.”
“We just need her alive,” Theo said. “Will you harm her?”
He raised his sword, as if the paladin’s answer would affect his decision. Ethric laughed at their foolishness.
“We want her safe, you damn simpletons,” Ethric said. “She is our own protection against Maynard Gemcroft. We have a common enemy, yet you cower and feebly strike against me. Pray I never see you again.”
He left their camp, circling around Theo’s guards. The footprints were chaotic, but seeing a set leading directly south from the camp, Ethric gave chase. Two of the faceless women were dead, with the third fleeing with his prey. His task was almost finished, and the night was young. Offering a prayer of thanks to Karak, Ethric ran on.
21
Once he was certain everyone was either asleep or occupied, Aaron donned a pale gray cloak and slipped out from his room. Something weighed heavily on his mind, and he knew of only one person who could answer him. Problem was, that person was currently hidden deep inside the temple of Ashhur. He doubted the priests would let him in to see Delysia, and equally doubted they would let her out.
Aaron had been shown how to hide, how to kill, and how to steal, but never once had he been shown how to break into a place with the aim of talking. The night had potential to be an interesting one.
The hallway was empty. He ran fast, tumbling into a nearby room. One of the floorboards was loose, and it came up easily when Aaron pulled on it. Below was a tunnel connecting to the others that stretched out from underneath the estate like an ant hill. Ensuring his dagger was tucked tightly into his belt, Aaron climbed down and replaced the board above his head.
The way was tight and dark. For a moment Aaron heard a noise, and he feared someone might be approaching from the other direction. He’d have no excuse or reason to explain his leaving. Thren would be furious. He heard another noise, sounding like the board he’d just replaced. Then silence. After five long minutes, Aaron resumed crawling, certain that no one was following him.
When he climbed out of the tunnel, he was underneath a giant, empty pile of crates that was never cleaned or removed from the alley. Aaron pulled out a thick strip of cloth from his pocket and tied it to his face, adjusting it so the eyeholes matched up perfectly.
He was Aaron no longer.
Haern dashed down the street, his pale cloak fluttering behind him. A moment later, another figure emerged from beneath the crates and gave chase.
Madelyn felt sleep tugging at her eyes, but she refused its temptation. It didn’t matter that she believed no harm would come to her. She wanted her eyes bloodshot and her actions slow and uneven when she met her husband. His anger would only grow at seeing her this way.
Light spilled in from a crack in the doorway. Madelyn felt her heart halt and her fingers tighten on the dagger. Perhaps she was wrong. Perhaps they would kill her after all.
The door opened. Blinded by the sudden light, Madelyn winced and held a hand over her eyes. She saw a small figure, too small to be an assassin.
“Oh,” she heard a girl say. “I didn’t know…”
Madelyn lowered her hand as the girl thankfully closed the door halfway. In the dimmer light, she could see. The girl stood with her hands behind her back. She wore a plain white dress that hung all the way down to her ankles. Her unadorned hair spilled down either side of her face, a beautiful red. Madelyn’s best guess put her no older than ten.
“I’ve been awake,” Madelyn said. She realized she still clutched the dagger and lowered it to the bed. That seemed to calm the girl a little.
“I was sent to get, um…”
She blushed and pointed at the chamber pot in the corner. Madelyn rolled her eyes.
“Just leave it,” she said. “Come back for it in the morning.”
The girl paused, clearly deciding which orders to follow. Madelyn stared at her face, seeing an odd familiarity. When the girl turned to leave, Madelyn spoke out a name.
“Eschaton?”
The girl jolted as if shocked.
“How do you know my name?” she asked, turning back around.
“Just your last, girl. You’re yet to give me your first.”
The girl blushed.
“Delysia Eschaton. It is a pleasure to meet you, milady.”
She gave a curtsey that was skillful as it was absurd in the plain long dress.
“I knew your father,” Madelyn said. “Many years ago, when he was still a lord. You have his hair and eyes. We weren’t close, but we talked on occasion. Then he let his faith override his senses and vanished into these cloistered halls.”
The Shadowdance Trilogy Page 27
