A Dance of Blades, (Shadowdance Trilogy, Book 2)

by David Dalglish

  Arthur stared at the old man, trying to understand what was going on. Was he helping him, or fishing for information?

  “I doubt Alyssa would agree,” he said, erring on the side of caution.

  “She cannot judge what she does not know.” Bertram turned for the door, put his hand on the handle, and then stopped. “I will be very busy over the next few days, and will have no time to venture into the wild. Perhaps you, or some of your men, might retrieve the body for me? I would greatly appreciate it.”

  “Anything I can do to help.”

  Bertram glanced back and smiled.

  “Claim her hand, and you’ll have done all that I could ask. Good night, Lord Hadfield.”

  Arthur waited another thirty minutes before venturing from his room. This was not his first time staying at the mansion, so he knew the way to the soldiers’ quarters. Once there, he found most of them asleep, but when he knocked, Oric came to the door still armed and awake.

  “Something the matter?” he asked.

  “Alyssa wants Nathaniel’s body,” he said.

  Oric raised an eyebrow. “That’s an interesting request to fill, given the circumstances.”

  “And I expect you, and you alone, to handle it.”

  “Consider the problem solved,” Oric said, ushering Arthur out the door. “We never talked, and you know nothing of this. Watch your tongue. We’re sleeping in the den of lions now.”

  “We’re the lions in this den,” Arthur said, flashing Oric a grin. Instead of going back to his room, though, he headed to the eastern half of the complex, to where Alyssa no doubt lay alone, tired, and in desperate need of his comfort.

  *

  Alyssa waited until her servants escorted Arthur to his room before she fled to her own. She was only halfway there when she stumbled and fell, and sobbed in the carpeted hallway. In the quiet of the night, she felt alone, and if any servants or guards were nearby, they allowed her privacy for her grief. She thought of Nathaniel, her son, her wonderful, handsome son. A thousand memories flashed before her mind, all of them tainted with sorrow. His smile she’d never see again. His laugh she’d never hear again. The way he’d cried at night, the way he’d nuzzled her breast when only a newborn, the way he…the way he…

  More sobs. She felt close to breaking, as if her sanity would pour out with her tears. She’d lost many over the years, friends, her father, but why Nathaniel? Why him? Why now? How could she have made such a foolish mistake?

  Over and over she slammed a fist against the floor. Not her fault. Not her fault, damn it all, not her fault! It was them, the thieves and their greed and lust. It was that Watcher, a monster unleashed against her by the thieves. They’d pay, all of them.

  “I’m sorry,” she heard Zusa say. She looked up, wiped her nose with her robe, and then nodded at the woman. She sat opposite her in the hall, her knees pulled up to her chest. She still wore the strange wrappings of her former sect.

  “He was supposed to be safe,” Alyssa said, trying to regain control. Her voice quivered but a little. “Safe, and now he’s dead. Did you talk to any of Arthur’s soldiers?”

  “They all say the same. They came with Arthur along the road and found the caravan attacked, with the bodies gathered together in a great pyre. Their only clue was a symbol of an eye, that of the Watcher.”

  “Who is he?” Alyssa asked. “What is he?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Then find out, Zusa. Whatever it costs, whatever it takes, find him. I have never ached for something like I do for this. I want Nathaniel’s killer brought to me. I want him to die by my hand. Can you do this? Can you find him?”

  Zusa stood and then bowed low.

  “The dark of the streets have always been my home,” she said. “Nothing can hide from me. I will find him, I swear it.”

  Alyssa accepted her offered hand and stood. She kissed Zusa’s fingers, then bowed herself.

  “Thank you. Send Bertram to my room after a few minutes. Wake him if he isn’t already.”

  Alyssa hurried to her room, wishing to wash her face of the garish rouge and powder she’d put on for Arthur. Once there, she dipped a cloth into a basin of cold water, left there from when she first went to bed. Off came her painted face. She was still washing when she heard the door knock.

  “Come in,” she said.

  Bertram entered, and he looked about half as bad as she felt. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, and his face was covered with uneven gray stubble.

  “My dear child,” he said, taking her into his arms. She set the cloth down and leaned against him. She felt so tired, so lost.

  “It’s like a terrible dream,” she said softly. “One I can’t seem to wake from. What did I do to deserve this, Bertram?”

  “Nothing,” he said. “No woman should endure this, but endure you must. The Gemcroft legacy must survive, no matter the hardships. And we shall, Alyssa, we shall. Whatever help you need, I am here for you.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “It would help me greatly if you would prepare the…the services.”

  He nodded. “He will have a fine funeral, one worthy of his bloodline.”

  She bit back a bitter comment. While her son was alive he’d seemed unpleased with Nathaniel’s bloodline. Now he was dead, and his threat of succession was ended, he seemed ready to forget all that. No, she scolded herself. She was overreacting. Bertram had never said a harsh word about Nathaniel, at least not undeserved.

  “There is something else,” she said, dipping her cloth in the basin and wiping underneath her eyes. “Call in every loan we have. Whatever stored grain, minerals, property, I want it all sold. We need gold, lots of it. Find every mercenary that needs work, no matter how expensive. Hire them, outfit them if need be.”

  “You wish to declare war against the guilds?” asked Betram, who allowed a tiny bit of doubt creep into his voice.

  “We’re already at war, or have you forgotten? Come the night of Nathaniel’s funeral, I want the streets to run red with the blood of thieves. I don’t care what cloak they wear; I want them dead.”

  “You’ll only reignite their anger, and ruin whatever progress we’ve made in the last…”

  “I don’t care! We’ve suffered and played the coward. No more peace. No more hope. Red, Bertram. I want the streets of this city red.”

  Bertram muttered and waved his hands, as if he could not decide what to say. Despite her grim mood, she took pleasure in his distress.

  “But what will the king think when we flood his streets with chaos?”

  “The king is a coward. He won’t dare refuse me, and neither will you.”

  “So be it,” he said. “We’ll have the funeral three days from now. Come that night, you will have your folly. You run the risk of bankrupting a century of wealth, Alyssa. Is your vengeance truly worth so much?”

  “That and more,” she said. “Go. You have work to do.”

  He bowed and left, looking far from pleased. Both matters settled, her revenge in motion, she finished washing and collapsed onto her bed. She tried, but sleep remained a distant hope and nothing more. After half an hour, she heard another knock on her door, just one, but it was firm. She ignored it. Thirty seconds later she heard it again.

  “Come in,” she said, removing her arm from over her eyes so she could see.

  In stepped Arthur, and he paused at the door.

  “I don’t mean to intrude,” he started, but she shook her head. He crossed the room and climbed into the bed beside her. His clothes were on, and for that she was thankful. His arms wrapped around her, and in their comfort, she broke down once more. He was something steady, dependable, amid the chaos overwhelming her. He said nothing as she cried, only gently stroked her hair and held her against him. His body was warm, and it felt pleasant. After awhile, he spoke.

  “If there is anything you need, I am here. It doesn’t matter the hour, nor the reason. I want you to know that.”

  She clutched his hand in hers and squee
zed. Her whole body ached, and her temples throbbed. Her tears still ran down her face, but they were silent. She closed her eyes, pressing her face against his chest and focusing on the sound of his breathing. As long as she thought about that, only that, maybe she could fall asleep. Maybe she could forget the whole damned night, and come the morning, the nightmare would be over. Maybe, just maybe…

  She slept.

  8

  In searching for the Watcher, there was one person Zusa knew would be best to meet with first. Behind the fenced estate was a small empty building, Zusa’s home. She intended to gather a few things for her task, but when she stepped into her combination bedroom and training room, she was instead surprised to find Veliana already waiting for her.

  “You?” she said.

  “I know I’m a day early,” Veliana said. She’d taken off her cloak, and wore only skin-tight clothing of blacks and grays. “I’ve come not just for training, but for advice.”

  Zusa removed her own cloak and set it atop her bed. Other than the bed, the room was completely empty. The floor was padded, but still firm, a gift from Alyssa celebrating her first year of living with and protecting her. Veliana’s boots lay beside the door, and she padded barefoot to the center of the room.

  “Tell me while we spar,” Zusa said. “I still feel sleep’s allure, so I need the awakening.”

  They both drew a pair of daggers. No training weaponry for them; Zusa had insisted on real blades. She trusted her skill to make sure she caused no serious injury, as well as to prevent Veliana from doing the same. Over the past five years, Veliana had closed much of the gap, so now if either scored a hit, they counted it a well-earned rarity.

  “Have you heard of a sorcerer named Deathmask, or perhaps Death’s Mask?” she asked as she stretched. Zusa shook her head. Veliana didn’t seem surprised. “Thought I’d ask anyway. He appeared about a week ago, a dangerous man. He has plans to kill Garrick, though how I don’t know. I think he has a chance.”

  “Will you kill him?”

  Veliana feinted, then slashed low, fully expecting Zusa to block. Their daggers connected, and as the steel rang out, they thrust and parried, resuming a skilled dance they had perfected over the years, a perfect give and take of cuts and dodges, parries and thrusts. They talked as they fought, albeit a little out of breath.

  “I’m not sure if I still can, nor if I want to. Garrick has turned against me, thinks he can survive without me. He may be right, though he was a lying coward when I first thrust him into his role.”

  Zusa upped the pace, forcing Veliana on the defensive as she spun and slashed.

  “Men change over time, as do women.”

  “But not like this. It’s too sudden. I feel like I’m missing something obvious.”

  “Perhaps you are, and that is why you miss it. What is it you wish from me?”

  Veliana leapt away, but instead of gaining a moment’s breather, Zusa rushed in, her daggers leading. After she parried both, Veliana struck Zusa in the chest with an elbow and then pushed her back.

  “I must make a choice, but I don’t know which is the right one. You know me best, Zusa. What should I do?”

  Zusa pulled back from her attack and rubbed her chest. Veliana was terribly distracted to have thrown so much strength into the elbow.

  “I see many choices,” she said. “Find what suddenly gave Garrick testicles and then cut them off. Join this Deathmask and solidify your position as second in command. Weave your own plans to remove Garrick. Accept your diminished role, and wait for the inevitable dagger to remove you completely.”

  “I’m tired of the games,” Veliana said. “I have no time to investigate Garrick. He’ll move against me soon, I know it. I promised Deathmask an answer by tomorrow night.”

  “Will he kill you if you say no?”

  Veliana laughed. “He might. I know nothing of him.”

  “Then how can you trust him?”

  “Because I’ve fought him. He didn’t kill me when he had the chance. He never showed fear, even when I had the chance to end his life. He’s brutal, terrible, and driven. Whatever his goal is, he’ll succeed…I guess I’m scared I’ll be in his way.”

  Zusa twirled her daggers and motioned for another spar. “Then join him, and do so without pause or regret. Garrick has turned against you, inviting this betrayal. Hear Deathmask’s plan, but always watch and listen. Every plan can be turned to your favor.”

  It was Veliana’s turn to be on the offensive, and she took to it with a wild fury that worried Zusa. Normally the woman was more controlled. This Deathmask must have upset her greatly. Did she feel guilt for betraying Garrick? Or was she too proud to agree to anything that left her second in the Ash Guild? Whatever the reason, her daggers lacked their normal grace, and she had to leap away several times to prevent blood from staining the floor.

  “Restrain yourself, girl,” Zusa said at last, after a desperate thrust nearly opened her throat. “If this choice disturbs you so much, I will choose for you, so you can concentrate and not kill me through your carelessness.”

  “I’m sorry,” Veliana said, sheathing her daggers and leaning against the wall. She sounded terribly out of breath. “I should go.”

  “No,” Zusa said. “I have a question for you as well. Someone murdered Alyssa’s child. I must discover who.”

  “Someone killed Nathaniel?” she asked. “I thought you’d persuaded her to move him up north and out of the city.”

  “I had. She called him back. He died on the northern road.”

  “It wasn’t the Ash Guild, I promise. I’d never let Garrick do something that low, and he’s not yet reached a point where he can plan something so large behind my back.”

  “Are you sure?”

  She paused a moment, thinking, and then sighed.

  “No, I’m not. His control might be greater than I’ve realized. My opinion of him was far too low, and it has blinded me to his ambitions. He’s not content to be a puppet. Still, I can’t think of a reason why he’d have killed Nathaniel, nor how he’d even know the boy was on his way. Is there anything else?”

  Zusa took her dagger and scrawled the symbol found at the caravan exactly as the soldiers had shown her.

  “That,” Zusa said. “Tell me all you know of him, this…Watcher.”

  “We first heard of him about three years ago, but honestly, he might have been killing us for longer. Given the amount of infighting, and the Trifect’s war against us, we probably blamed others for his early murders. But then we started finding these runes, an eye here, or the letter ‘W’. Perhaps he thought us dense, or his confidence hadn’t grown yet. Either way, he started killing more, and leaving his marker larger, clearer, and often in blood. He kills thieves of all guilds, with seemingly no preference. Every guild has accused the others of secretly harboring him, but we’ve never had an ounce of proof. Whoever he is, he has a profound hatred of all thief guilds, and he’s also incredibly good. Far too many have died by his hand, and those who survive can only speak of a face shrouded in shadow and hidden by a hood and many cloaks.”

  “Has he ever attacked the Trifect?” Zusa asked.

  Veliana shrugged. “If he has, we don’t know about it. Not that any would tell us. But if this is the first you’re hearing of him, then I doubt he’s struck at the Gemcrofts before.”

  Zusa frowned, for this didn’t match up with the surrounding events. Why would this Watcher turn on them if his enemy was the thieves?

  “I must find him,” Zusa said. “Is there anything you know that can help me?”

  “Find him? What for?”

  “He killed Alyssa’s son. I must give my lady her vengeance.”

  “If the Watcher killed him, something else is going on. Perhaps he thinks you’ve secretly colluded with one of the thief guilds. Maybe he was confused. Or maybe he’s just insane and out for blood. We know nothing of him.”

  “Regardless the difficulty, he is my prey, and must be found. My honor is sworn up
on it.”

  “Then I wish you luck,” Veliana said as she sheathed her daggers and swung her cloak over her shoulders. “Many have tried, and no lead we’ve ever found has panned out. He might as well be a ghost. If you wish to find him, your best bet is to scour the streets at night and listen for the sound of combat. If you don’t catch him in the act, I doubt you ever will.”

  “Will you not stay, practice your spells?”

  “I should be going. Deathmask seeks his answer, and I must prepare until then.”

  “Good luck,” Zusa said, bowing. “May you make the right decision, and in time, find peace with my lady and her family.”

  Veliana pushed open the door, and as the chill wind blew in, she sadly shook her head.

  “Long as Thren Felhorn lives, this war will continue. Too many fear him, and many more live in the palm of his hand without ever knowing. He’s a bitter, angry man. Sometimes I think all of Veldaren will burn before the end.”

  “Perhaps it is not Garrick you should plot against, but Thren,” Zusa said.

  Veliana’s smile turned bitter.

  “We did, once,” she said. “I’ll see you next week. Safe travels.”

  “To you as well.”

  Zusa had hoped discussing with Veliana would illuminate matters, but instead it made things worse. An assassin killing thieves for several years, and not once had any of the guilds discovered his real identity. Who could be that skilled? And what had drawn that skill against her lady? What would happen if she did find him? Did she have the ability to take him down?

  Only one way to find out, of course. Dawn was fast approaching, less than an hour away. Still, in that last twilight moment, perhaps she might find word of the Watcher.

  She scoured the rooftops, an eye always kept on the streets. She saw several deals, a whore earning her pay, and two men dying so their killers might make off with their gold. No Watcher. Up on the rooftops, she was alone.

  “You must have left people alive,” Zusa whispered to herself as she watched the sun rise. “You’ve hurt many opponents, though none will work together. But I am not one of them. I will piece it together. I will discover who you are. Perhaps, in time, I will be the one leaving my mark for you.”