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

by David Dalglish

  “What have you been doing?” she asked. “How have you survived?”

  He didn’t want to answer. Why was he so afraid she’d judge him? So long ago, he’d come to her for advice. Now he feared every word she might say?

  “I slept in the streets,” he said. He was the Watcher of Veldaren, damn it. He would fear no one, nothing. “Ever since, I’ve been killing members of the thief guilds, hoping to destroy them. It’s pointless, futile, but still I try. It’s the only thing that gives me meaning.”

  He thought she’d berate him, or challenge his claim. Instead, she looked at him with sad eyes, and that was worse.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said. “It’s because of me, isn’t it? Because you protected me?”

  His mouth fell open.

  “Of course not. Don’t be…Delysia, I chose everything I did. I would have stayed with you, spoken with you forever if I could. That night…that single night, I’ve cherished that memory. It was one of the few bright spots in my entire childhood. But then my father darkened it with blood. My precious memory always leads to him, his murder, his guilt. It pushes me on, consumes everything. I have become something I don’t think either that little girl or that little boy could ever have understood or accepted.”

  He looked back to the window, not wanting to see her reaction. He was a damn fool, that’s what he was. Hoping she’d leave him be, he refused to react when she stood from her chair, set her cup down, and came closer. Her hand touched his face, and reluctantly he turned to her. Tears were in his eyes.

  She kissed his cheek, then pressed her forehead against his.

  “Go to sleep, and try to remember that while you are not that little boy, I am no longer a little girl.”

  She trudged up the sharply curved stairs to the second floor. Haern watched her go, and when she was gone, almost fled to the streets. But he remembered that feeling in the Pensfield’s home, of having a home. He felt that same thing here, though the company was on the odder side. He downed the rest of his drink, grimaced, and then set the cup aside. His chair was comfortable enough, far more than the cold street he was used to, so he crossed his arms and tried to sleep.

  Footsteps coming back down the stairs opened his eyes. He didn’t think he’d slept, but he wasn’t sure. It wasn’t Delysia that had come down, though. Instead it was the wizard, her brother. He’d shed his pointy hat, though he still wore those strange yellow robes. He rubbed his goatee as he plopped down in a chair opposite Haern.

  “Had some words with Senke,” he said.

  “That so?”

  “Well, most involved variations of ‘get out of my room so I can sleep you idiot’, but there were some more intriguing bits I dragged out of him. Most interesting was that of your father. Thren Felhorn, really? You look more like something two vagabonds might bump out on a cold, drunk night.”

  “Flattered.”

  Tarlak tapped his fingers together, and his mouth shifted about as if he were chewing on his words before saying them.

  “Not much for talking. I get that. I like to talk, so perhaps I can make up for the both of us. Senke says you’re good, really good. What I saw out there tonight certainly confirms it. Can’t expect much less from Thren’s son, of course. You’ve established quite a reputation, too. I’ve heard plenty talk of the Watcher, usually poor thieves grumbling into their cups about how much gold you cost them. A few even thought you were Ashhur’s vengeance come down upon them for their lifestyle, though they usually had to be incredibly drunk to admit it.”

  “You have a point?”

  “Several, one on my nose, one on my hat, and one where the ladies love me. But that’s beside the, uh, point. It seems like, other than revenge, you don’t have much going for you. Ashhur knows those streets out there aren’t comfortable living. So how about you join my mercenaries instead? Pay isn’t the best, but with half the city employed in killing thieves, I think we could make a few coins. Besides,” his eyes lit up, “can you imagine the rates I could charge if people knew the Watcher was in my pay?”

  “I’m not for sale,” Haern grumbled.

  Tarlak frowned.

  “Well that’s disappointing. You sure?”

  “Very.”

  The wizard scratched at his chin. “This a pride thing?”

  “I have no use for money.”

  Tarlak grinned. “I’m not sure I believe that, but I’m more thinking you feel you don’t need money. Considering all the stories of you tossing gold coins in the middle of high market, I can believe that. But there are some things you can buy with gold that you might be more interested in. Our introductions were a little haphazard, but you met Brug, right?”

  “Short guy, cussed a lot, can’t fight worth shit?”

  “That’s him. I didn’t hire him because of his skill with those ludicrous whatever-they-are he fights with. Obviously. You want to know why I did?”

  Haern stared at him with an expression showing he didn’t think himself having a choice in whether he found out or not. Tarlak blinked.

  “Right. Anyway, he’s a blacksmith, and with my help, he can create items that many would sell their souls to own. Would you like to run faster? Jump higher? Or perhaps a fancy sword or three…”

  “I’m not much for bribery, either.”

  “Don’t see why you shouldn’t be. You spend your nights crawling around the rooftops killing thieves. Might as well get paid for it.”

  Haern turned his chair so his back was to Tarlak, and he stared out the window.

  “Very well.” Tarlak stood. “I’ll leave you be. Take a nap, or vanish in the afternoon. You aren’t held prisoner here. Think about my offer, though. We may not be much now, but I think we’ve got potential.”

  Haern snorted. Whether Tarlak heard or not, he didn’t react, only went up the stairs. Staring at the men and women still fighting the fire, he wondered what in the world had gotten a hold of him. That wizard was no better than anyone else, not even his father. He killed for money, except he used fire and words instead of a blade. What could have possibly possessed Senke to join them?

  He closed his eyes and felt the light of the sun warm his face. Come that afternoon, he’d sneak his way out. Oh, he had no delusions of abandoning Delysia and Senke completely. He knew himself better than that. It’d be easy enough to keep an eye on them, though, keep his eyes open for a wizard in yellow, accompanied by a beautiful girl with hair like fire…

  When he opened his eyes, many hours had passed. He shook his head, fighting the grogginess. His back ached, and it popped several times as he shifted his upper body side to side. Senke stood at a small counter, eating cold bread leftover from that morning. His fingers drummed the counter, the sound no doubt what had awakened Haern.

  “You chew like a cow,” Haern said, pressing his thumb and forefinger against his eyes.

  “And you look like one, only worse. When was the last time you had a bath?”

  “Consider that a luxury my life cannot afford.”

  Senke shoved the rest into his mouth and wiped crumbs from his shirt.

  “Here” he said, his mouth full. He pointed at Haern’s swords. “Been a long time since we sparred. Thought it’d be a nice way to catch up.”

  “Where?” The room was cramped as is. Senke nodded toward a back exit.

  “There. Come on.”

  There was a small space of flat dirt out back, part of an alleyway that ran behind their group of apartments. The faint outline of a circle remained dug into it, and Senke refreshed it with his heel.

  “Only person to train with has been Brug, and trust me, that’s not much of a workout. You’ll do me fine.”

  Haern stretched away the rest of his drowsiness. Senke had been the better fighter when they last met, but the years had hardened Haern, granted him strength and height while his nightly excursions had honed his reflexes and skill. He touched the tips of his swords together and bowed. Senke had carried two shortswords with him, and he wielded those instead of h
is maces.

  “Maces will be too slow for you,” he said. “So let’s try the blade.”

  Eager to show how much he’d learned, Haern initiated their combat with a quick lunge. Expecting the ensuing parry, he followed up with a slash with his other weapon, using it as a distraction to allow his first thrust to pull back and thrust again. Senke, however, hadn’t been Thren’s enforcer without good reason. He shoved both attacks high, stepped closer, and feinted an elbow to Haern’s face. When Haern stepped back, trying to fall into position, Senke pressed the attack, keeping his swords out wide. The second elbow that came flying in was no feint, and it smacked into his chest with a heavy thud. Again he stepped back, but instead of chasing, Senke pointed to where he’d stepped beyond the bounds of the circle.

  “Out,” he said.

  Feeling his cheeks flush, Haern stepped back into the practice ring. He wasn’t focused, wasn’t analyzing Senke’s reaction like he might other opponents. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to calm. A nod, and they resumed.

  This time he remained patient, and he swallowed down his pride to acknowledge Senke was just as fast as him. Most opponents he could overwhelm with simple brute speed, the massive gaps in their skill overriding any of his carelessness. Not now. Senke stepped closer, swinging both his blades in a downward arc. Haern parried them aside, then looped both swords around as he advanced. Senke blocked the barrage, then planted his back foot to halt his steady retreat to the circle’s edge.

  Seeing this, Haern pressed the attack, relying on his opponent’s lack of mobility. But the planted foot had been a kind of a feint, for when Haern swung with all his might, ready for the clash of steel and challenge of strength, instead Senke twirled out of the way. Overextended, he could do nothing but accept the stings of Senke’s shortswords slapping against his arm.

  “Come on now,” Senke said, pausing to catch his breath. “I expected far better than that. King’s sake, I saw you handle yourself better last night against those thieves.”

  Again he felt his neck flush. Was he holding back? He didn’t mean to be.

  “Treat me like any other opponent,” Senke said, clanging his swords together. “Fuck. Treat me like your father. Everything, Haern, show me everything you got.”

  Everything, he thought. Everything. It seemed like a red light bathed over him, flashing from a ring on Senke’s finger. He forgot they only sparred, forgot they fought in a dirt circle instead of a real battlefield. He forgot his opponent’s name was Senke, and imagined instead the glaring figure of Thren Felhorn, furious, deadly, a bow in his hands and Delysia dying at his feet. His father grinned, as if the corpse there suddenly didn’t matter.

  “Hello, son,” said Thren.

  He gave that image everything. His swords weaved in tight circles as he slipped from stance to stance, always shifting, always attacking. The sound of steel on steel became a song in his ears. Their blades looped and twisted, parrying away sure hits and blocking cuts that should have hit before either could counter. Thren’s grin faded, just a cold image that watched him without any sign of exertion or worry. Haern found himself wondering where he was, what was going on. Around him the alley had become an old safe house they’d lived in for a year, the hardwood floor polished and prepared for practice.

  “You’ve learned nothing!” Thren shouted, bearing down on him with his shortswords. Haern’s arms ached with each block, and that ache slowed his response when one of the attacks slipped to the side, curling back for a thrust. Haern twirled, his sword parrying moments too late. His chest burned, and blood ran down. As he grunted in pain, Thren rammed his heel into his stomach, knocking him back.

  “What are you to me now? What could you hope for? Come at me, son! Kill me! Your skill is nothing, nothing!”

  Haern felt his mind change, becoming something whole, focused, and dangerous. The entire world ceased to exist, and even time struggled to keep him under its rule. He let out a cry and attacked. This time his father’s attacks were no longer so frightening. Despite his feints, his parries, Haern saw through them all and refused to be controlled by them. Faster and faster he whirled, his body lost in a dance, their blades intertwined, their motions in constant reaction to each other. He managed a snap-kick into Thren’s face, dropped to the ground, and then swept his feet out from under him. As he fell, Haern lunged, one sword shoving his father’s defenses out of the way, the other stabbing for his throat.

  Instead of piercing flesh, he stabbed dirt. Thren scattered as if his body were made of dust, and then he was back in the alley. The wound on his chest vanished, his pain along with it. Senke leaned against the complex, his arms crossed. Haern felt naked before him, his heart exposed and bleeding.

  “Your hatred for him is so great,” Senke said softly. “It’s all that keeps you alive, isn’t it? You can’t live like that, Haern. You have every reason to escape his shadow, yet you still let it lord over you. What have you become? How many have you murdered in his name?”

  “They were all guilty,” Haern shouted. “Thieves and murderers!”

  “Were they always? I just saw what lurked behind your eyes, Haern, more frightening than anything your father might have done to me.”

  Haern thought of all the men and women he’d hunted in the night. They’d worn guild colors, yes, but how many had been innkeepers, farmers, smiths and butchers? How many had he killed for doing business with them, smuggling and trading and selling? Night after night, he felt the waves of his dead. For Ashhur’s sake, he’d written his name with their blood!

  “It’s not hopeless,” Senke continued. “I thought I’d lost you, but now finding you, I wonder what is left of that small boy who loved to read. The one who asked me about jewelry for a girl he liked. I’d always hoped that, if you’d survived, you’d have gone and experienced everything Thren denied you. Now I see you denying yourself…love, faith, friendship…and you do so out of revenge?”

  Senke walked over and sat down beside him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

  “Sorry about the illusion,” he added. “Just a trick of this ring Tarlak gave me. I had to see. I had to know who you are, how good you can be.”

  “Now you do,” Haern said, feeling his insides tighten and twist behind his ribs. “Is it truly so bad?”

  Senke squeezed, then smacked his back.

  “Doesn’t matter,” he said with a wink. “I’m still here for you, as is that pretty red-head Tarlak has for a sister. He’s a good man, Tarlak. A bit strange, but he’s a wizard, so that’s to be expected. Stay with us. Put these streets behind you. If you’re to have a legacy, it shouldn’t be this. You’ve become the feared reaper of the guilds. Should Thren ever find out you still live, I cannot help but wonder if he’d be furious…or proud.”

  He stood and moved for the door.

  “Go back to your streets,” he said. “Think on everything I’ve said. There’s so much good in you, I can see it still. It’s never too late to change who you are, so long as you’re willing to bear the consequences. You’ve carried heavy burdens your whole life, Haern. Maybe it’s time you let some of them go.”

  Not waiting to see if he stayed or not, Senke stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. As its lock shut, Haern felt thrust back into the world he’d called his home for the past five years, but for once, the streets seemed foreign, their alleyways and rooftops offering no safety, only a winding path deeper and deeper into confusion.

  He took them anyway, getting farther with every step.

  16

  “Do you think he’s telling the truth?” Matthew asked his wife as they cuddled in bed for the night.

  “I don’t see any reason for him to lie.”

  “I can think of plenty. He’s hurt, sick, and in a stranger’s home. Truth might be the farthest thing from his mind. What if he doesn’t know Lady Gemcroft, only hopes she’ll take him in if we show up at her doorstep?”

  Evelyn put her arm across his chest and pressed her face against his neck
.

  “It would explain a lot though, wouldn’t it?” she asked, her voice quiet. “Why those men were searching for him. We both knew he was no ordinary boy, not to be hunted like he is.”

  “But why would Arthur’s men be after him? The whole bloody north knows he’s been courting her.” An unspoken question hovered in the air between them, until at last Matthew gave it voice. “What if the men we killed were actually trying to rescue him?”

  Matthew waited for his wife to speak, trusting her to better understand these complicated matters. He could list the price of every vegetable that grew in Dezrel, what the color of the soil meant and what could grow in it, but these things were beyond him. He liked living outside the city, where so long as you paid the taxman when he came, you could live unbothered by your lord and always trust your neighbors. Hard luck comes in strangers’ hands, his ma had always said.

  “That man, Haern, might have kidnapped him,” Evelyn said. “If he were wounded and low on food, he’d need someone like us to help out, but why leave the boy here? Why tell us to take him back to his parents whenever he could talk? Everything he paid us for, he could have taken by force. Still, I won’t pretend to understand Arthur’s reasons, and neither does Tristan.”

  “He says his name is Nathaniel.”

  Evelyn kissed his neck.

  “I told him his new name, and we’ll use it so long as he’s with us. No need to risk undue attention should we go out and about.”

  Matthew grunted. Fair enough.

  “It might be Arthur himself that came for him, though everything’s just a jumble when Tristan tells what happened. But I think you’re right. Those men weret up to no good. Could see it in their eyes.”

  “So what do we do?”

  Matthew sighed. He wished he knew. While he thought, he ran his rough fingers through her hair, enjoying its softness.

  “We got to get him home, even if that means travelling all the way to Veldaren.”

  “What if you stop in Felwood and deliver him to lord Gandrem? He’s always been a friend to the Gemcrofts.”