Shadowdance 01 - A Dance of Cloaks

by David Dalglish

  Ethric watched as the fire spread across the painting, not at all bothered by the smoke that washed over his face. When the flame reached his bare hand, he flexed his arm. Black fire swarmed over his fingers. The frame broke, crumbling into ash in his fingers. In one giant whoosh, the painting and its frame were consumed. As the ash rained down to the floor, Ethric drew his sword and made his vow.

  “Until my death, I will hunt them,” he whispered. “No child of Karak is greater than his master.”

  CHAPTER

  21

  Privacy was something Alyssa found she could rarely obtain, but despite all their food and supplies, Yoren still liked to hunt. It was then she could be alone, and she cherished those opportunities. That morning, like most others, he went off with his bow to prove his abilities and come back with yet another animal he could boast of slaying. That morning Alyssa fled to the far edge of the camp, racing around the bottom of a nearby hill so that she could not be seen even by their guards.

  A small stream flowed near the bottom, barely more than ankle-deep as it ran toward the nearby Kinel River. Into its water Alyssa stared, glad she could not see her reflection due to the mud. No doubt she would have seen the circles around her eyes, angry red veins filling the whites.

  “Do you miss me?” she whispered, thinking of Maynard in his giant, empty mansion. “Do you miss me, Daddy?”

  Yoren had convinced her that he didn’t. That she’d been sent to John Gandrem’s to be out of the way, to wait like a good girl while the men did their business. And she’d believed it. She splashed the water with her hands, disrupting whatever reflection she could see. The cold clung to her fingers, and she held them against her dress to dry them off. That hand brushed the dagger she still kept with her, and for the first time she thought to use it not on Yoren, but on herself instead.

  “It’s not safe to hide beyond sight of Theo’s guards,” a voice said behind her. Alyssa flinched, fingers tightening around her dagger, and then she relaxed.

  “Why is that, Zusa?” she asked. She’d finally learned to identify all the faceless women by their voices. It was either that, or constantly look like a fool asking the name of whomever she was speaking to.

  Alyssa glanced back and saw the woman standing with her arms crossed, covered face staring at her. At least, Alyssa thought she was staring at her. The daylight reflected off the thin white cloth, making it impossible to peer through it. How Zusa could see at all baffled her.

  “Something might happen to you,” Zusa said. She hesitated a moment, then took a seat beside Alyssa before the stream. “Something unfortunate.”

  “I’d see any bandits coming for miles,” Alyssa said, gesturing to the grasslands beyond.

  “You act as if I speak of threats beyond the Kulls’ own camp. It is Yoren who might do something unfortunate should he fear you attempting to flee.”

  Alyssa swallowed, and she stared into the water in hopes of keeping the strange woman from reading her reaction.

  “Why would he think I’d be fleeing? He is my love, after all.”

  At this Zusa let out a laugh. It was so rough, so sudden, that Alyssa jumped.

  “Yes, yes. Of course. Your true love. That is why you flinch just before he touches you at night. That is why you smile when he looks at you, yet never before, and never after his eyes leave your face. Yoren may be a fool, Alyssa, but do not treat me as such, nor my sisters.”

  Alyssa felt her neck turning red. Was she really so terrible at hiding how she felt? Or was the other woman just that good at reading people? Seeing that masked face, that aura of danger that settled around Zusa as comfortably as the gray cloak she wore, Alyssa dared hope it was the latter. She tried to decide how to continue their conversation, if at all. Yoren and Theo were the faceless women’s employers. Yet she seemed to speak only with contempt of Yoren…

  “Forgive me, then,” Alyssa said. “Sometimes we must share a bed for reasons other than love.”

  “Such as?”

  “Power. Safety. Respect.”

  “If you think Yoren gives you any of that, then you are as big a fool as he. Come back to the camp, Alyssa. I’d hate to see you punished needlessly.”

  Zusa reached out, grabbing her arm. Alyssa refused, instead pulling away and glaring.

  “I am no fool either!” she said. “What else am I to do? My father will have banished me, blaming me for the attempt on his life you damn women made. I was once heiress to one of the most powerful families in all of Dezrel. Yet what am I now? Nothing but a warm place for the cock of a fat, disgusting tax collector’s son. I know he would use me, but one day he’ll learn just how wrong he was to ever dare to do so.”

  Zusa stood there, arm still holding her. Alyssa met her unseen stare, not caring anymore, not willing to keep up the act. She was alone, damn it, this was supposed to be her tiny sliver of solitude.

  Slowly the wrapped fingers released her.

  “Alyssa…” Zusa started to say, then paused. “What if … what if I were not in the Kulls’ employ?”

  Alyssa swallowed, remained silent.

  “What if,” Zusa continued, sitting down cross-legged before her. “What if the only reason we serve is to bring land into Karak’s possession, land currently owned by the Gemcroft family?”

  “Land promised to you after my father was dead,” Alyssa said, easily piecing it together. “Land promised to you after I was wed to Yoren.”

  “Land you could promise to us as well.”

  Alyssa shook her head.

  “I can make no promises, Zusa. You have to know that. Even if I could somehow convince my father to take me back and accept me, I cannot guarantee he would give up any land to Karak’s temple. You tried to kill him, and Maynard is not so forgiving.”

  “What if your father were no longer alive?”

  Alyssa dug her fingers into the dirt beside her.

  “No,” she said. “No. Then you are no better than Yoren and his shit-eating snake of a father. Go back to camp if that is all you can offer me. I want to be alone.”

  Zusa stood, her cloak rustling as it folded around her, hiding her slender form.

  “I know you keep a dagger in your dress,” she said, just before leaving. “You will have only one chance to use it. Just one. But know there are two types of mercenaries. There are those who work only for coin, and those who think for themselves.”

  “And which are you?”

  “We are the best of the best, Alyssa.”

  She waited until Zusa crested the hill, then ran. Her feet were bare, and they sloshed through the mud of the stream easily enough. She held her skirt up high as she could, but still the muddy waters splashed across it. No turning back, she thought as she rushed along the other side. Everyone wanted her father dead, wanted her to pledge power she didn’t deserve to people who had not earned it. Enough was enough. She would rather risk the wild, rather go to her father and throw herself at his feet and beg for mercy, muddy dress and all.

  Alyssa looked back once, saw Zusa watching her from atop the hill, and swore.

  Whatever distance she’d made suddenly seemed irrelevant. Her legs pumped as she flew across the grasslands, but she’d already tried fleeing them once. The faceless were bizarre creatures, impossibly fast. Her only hope would be to lose her, but how? All around were grass and gently sloped hills. There were no trees, no buildings, no real way to hide. Her teeth clenched, she choked down her scream. Why did she have to remain? Why did the woman have to lurk and watch and ruin whatever hope she had of escape?

  Barely visible in the distance she saw the Kinel River, and she wondered if she might be able to use its current to float away. Its waters would be ice, though, and she wondered if she could endure it for any length of time. Her feet, caked with mud, already were turning numb. Her breath burned in her lungs, and she ran and ran, but it did not matter. Hands touched her shoulders, a foot slipped beneath hers, and then she tumbled. She rolled along the grass, which was wet and loose from p
roximity to the river. Zusa followed, collapsing atop her as she sank into the cold ground.

  “Why?” she nearly screamed at Zusa. “Why couldn’t you just let me go?”

  Zusa grabbed her shoulders and twisted, forcing Alyssa to look at her as she pinned her to the ground. As Alyssa watched, she tore off the thin white cloth to reveal her piercing green eyes.

  “Because I would have you face this,” Zusa said. “You will not run. Running gets you a knife in the back. But a lord’s daughter stands tall, dagger in hand.”

  “And dies stabbed in the chest,” Alyssa said, feeling tears slide down the sides of her face.

  “Never. No matter what happens, no matter whose bed you sleep in or what your family name becomes, I will not allow it.”

  Alyssa felt a lump in her throat, and she tried to swallow it down.

  “Why?” she asked. “Why would you do that for me?”

  Zusa stood, then offered her a hand.

  “Men have twisted you, treated you as a piece in a game or a toy for a bed. I understand this far more than you can understand, Alyssa. But it will not repeat itself, not this time. Not when I have the strength to prevent it.”

  It took all her strength, but Alyssa reached out and accepted that hand. Pulled back to her feet, she looked about, feeling lost and dazed. What did this mean? What did it change?

  “Come,” Zusa said, still holding her hand. “Back to the camp, before they notice your absence.”

  Alyssa remained silent, daring in her heart to trust the strange woman. Upon their reaching the camp, one of the guards noticed the mud on her dress but said nothing. He might normally have asked questions, but Zusa’s presence stilled his tongue. Toward Yoren’s tent they went, Zusa with no apparent desire to leave Alyssa. Alyssa hoped to change clothes before Yoren returned, but instead they found him already there, sitting before a bonfire in the center of the camp. Before him was a large rabbit, its fur already peeled back.

  “My dear?” Yoren said, looking up and noticing the mud and the tearing of her clothes. Alyssa thought for an answer, but was not given time.

  “She slipped near the stream,” Zusa said. “But do not worry, she is strong as ever.” Eyes still uncovered, she looked Alyssa’s way. “Isn’t she?”

  “Yes,” Alyssa said, praying it was true, yet not willing to believe it.

  Her fingers touched the dagger in her dress as Yoren resumed skinning the rabbit.

  Not yet.

  CHAPTER

  22

  Thren hadn’t felt this good in ages. So far two riots had broken out in southern Veldaren. The king’s advisor had done his work well. With soldiers arresting dozens of prominent merchants, goods had been left unprotected as taxes were collected. Those who were released found their stalls and warehouses ransacked. Thren had personally burned down several. The price of the remaining goods and, most important, food, doubled and then tripled. Mercenaries flooding into the city in anticipation of the Kensgold found their employers unable to pay them. Some went away, while others…

  Thren laughed. Others had eagerly joined his own guild to ensure their work with a blade received adequate pay. Those who hadn’t taken up with the guild, well, they died easily enough. Given the hunger, the frustration, the gouging of customers, the poor southern section of Veldaren was all too eager to let its anger loose. It wouldn’t be long before the hungry and destitute made their way north into the rest of the city. If Thren’s spies outside the walls were correct, Laurie Keenan and his family would be making their grand return to the city sometime that afternoon. Hunger riots, jobless sellswords, and overeager castle soldiers demanding taxes were one fantastic greeting.

  Laurie would get the message immediately: Thren controlled the city, not he. If everything went according to plan, the slaughter during the Kensgold would send an even stronger message.

  “Sir,” shouted Kayla, hurrying after him. He was on his way to his son’s room, wanting the boy to accompany him on a routine collection of protection money from the merchants still active amid the riots. Given the circumstances, he was certain they’d be eager for all the protection they could get.

  “I am no sir,” Thren said as he turned. “I am no knight, and no noble.”

  “Sorry,” Kayla said as she slowed to a walk. “I’m not sure what to say that would be seen as respectful.”

  Thren gave her a look of honest confusion.

  “What could be more respectful than my own name?” he asked.

  “Right,” Kayla said. “Anyway, we still have no word from Will.”

  “He’s been gone far too long,” Thren said as he resumed his walk down the hall. “Taking Gerand’s wife shouldn’t have been difficult, not for someone as skilled as him. I doubt any mercenaries could capture him, not alive anyway. If Will is in hiding, he has a reason, and I’m sure he’ll…”

  He opened the door to his son’s room and took a step inside. Aaron was on his knees, his hands clasped together underneath his chin. His elbows rested on the side of his bed. His eyes were closed, though they snapped open at Thren’s sudden entrance.

  Thren’s jaw dropped. Hanging from a silver chain looped around Aaron’s fingers was a golden pendant of Ashhur.

  Before anyone could react, Thren slammed the door shut, spun, and struck Kayla with his fist. As she slumped to the ground, he shouted for his men. The mansion was large, but even so, gray cloaks rushed toward him in seconds.

  “Where’s Senke?” he shouted as the men stared with a mixture of confusion and curiosity at Kayla slumped on the floor, holding her cheek with a stony expression upon her face.

  “Here,” Senke said, pushing his way to the front of the men.

  “Find Cregon,” Thren said. “I’ll need his spells. And you two,” he said, pointing, “find Robert Haern and bring him to my room. Kayla too. I want them bound tight.”

  Thren reopened the door to Aaron’s room. Aaron sat on the bed. The amulet lay beside him, as if he knew hiding it would be a pointless gesture. Thren stepped inside, grabbed the amulet, and then beckoned to his son to follow.

  Aaron walked down the halls a step behind his father, feeling his heart race. His stomach roiled as he tried to think of what punishment awaited him. Robert had given him the pendant. Kayla had encouraged him to rebel. There was also the matter of Delysia and Dustin. While he had run off to protect Delysia, Thren had sent for him. So far he had not demanded an explanation for his absence. Now it looked like the matter would soon explode in his face.

  “Keep your mouth shut until I ask you a question,” Thren said as they walked.

  If there was anything Aaron was good at, it was keeping silent. He nodded.

  They took a long, looping path toward Thren’s room. Aaron realized his father was buying time, most likely wanting whatever he had ordered prepared ready by the time they entered. The thought was hardly comforting. He felt like throwing up. He’d made a mistake, a stupid one at that. Only twice before had he prayed to Ashhur, and both times he’d felt a combination of silliness and embarrassment. Afterward he’d remembered the way Delysia had prayed when he stood unseen before her. Whatever he was doing was not the same, he felt it in his gut.

  So he’d tried again, this time because he’d heard no word either way on whether or not she’d lived. And now he might have endangered her life. If Thren tortured him, he’d talk. He held no delusions about that. Once Thren knew where she was, she would die. Gods damn it all, how could he have messed up so badly?

  “Remember, I do this for your own good,” Thren said when they finally arrived at his room. Two men stood guard before it, bowing respectfully as they passed through.

  Inside the room Senke had cleared away the chairs of the table. Robert Haern knelt at one end. Kayla knelt on the other, a large bruise spreading across her cheek. Senke stood between them, his hands on the hilts of his swords. A heavyset man leaned against the bedpost of the extravagant bed, his arms crossed. He was sweating, often wiping his face with his hands. Aa
ron had seen him rarely, but the fat man was hard to forget. He was Cregon, a mage who had long been in the employ of his father.

  “Stand here,” Thren ordered, pointing beside Senke. When the guildmaster walked over to Cregon and began talking, Senke whispered down to Aaron.

  “What the fuck did you do?” he asked.

  “I prayed,” Aaron whispered back.

  “Shit,” Senke said, then clammed up. Thren was returning with the mage.

  “Stay still,” Cregon said, his voice thin and reedy. “All of you. If my concentration breaks, I won’t be able to try again until tomorrow.”

  Aaron entertained shouting out a bizarre stream of cusswords to disrupt the mage, but decided otherwise. Instead he watched Cregon cast his spell. The man was a poor mage, in both money and abilities, hence his easy recruitment into the Spider Guild many years ago. He spent most of his days sequestered apart from the rest of the men, reading books and pretending to advance his skills while in reality doing his best to drink the days away.

  Arcane words of power passed through Cregon’s lips, sounding clunky and odd. Aaron had little experience with spellcasters, but he thought their casting should sound more fluent and natural than what he heard.

  Cregon abruptly stopped and wiped his sweating brow. Aaron felt a slight tingle shoot up his back, as if someone were rubbing him with flower petals.

  “There. The spell is in place,” said Cregon.

  “Excellent,” Thren said. “Leave us to our business.”

  The mage looked happy to oblige. Once he left, it was just the five of them. Thren paced before them all, the icy fury of his face gradually growing.

  “Kayla, Robert, I brought you both here because of certain actions by my son. I know the rest of my men well, but you two are new to my home. Too long I have turned a blind eye. No longer. Senke, draw your sword.”