A Dance of Chaos: Book 6 of Shadowdance

by David Dalglish

  “You’re probably right,” Zusa said, shifting so she could peer farther. Haern caught her tensing, and he felt his heart skip a beat.

  “There,” she said, and Haern slid beside her to watch.

  With an entourage of four, positioned so they formed the points of his guild’s symbol, Muzien arrived from the south. The wall of his men and women parted for him, followed by a scattering of those innocents trapped within. To his three prisoners he strode, looking so smug and confident Haern couldn’t wait to bury his sabers in the bastard’s face. Zusa tapped his shoulder, and when she pointed, he leaned out as far as he dared to look north. From the other direction came more members of the Sun, pulling a cart. Inside it, as best he could tell from that distance, were many heavy stones.

  Muzien hopped up onto the side of the fountain, lording over his three prisoners with his arms spread wide.

  “People of Veldaren,” he cried, and the way he projected his words struck a memory so distinct it chilled Haern to the bone. The stance, the tone, the force of his voice … after slaying Tarlak and Delysia’s father, Delius Eschaton, Thren had addressed the people the same way. The same contempt. The same sense of absolute mastery and power.

  “Your faithfulness has pleased me,” the elf continued. “But there is one who still fights against the inevitable dawn. A man who once ruled, and refuses to accept that his head no longer bears a crown. You know him as the Watcher, and it is to him I now call. Before me are your friends, people I know are close to you. We have crossed blades before, Watcher. You know you are powerless to save them. If you wish to spare their lives, only one option remains: surrender.”

  Murmurs spread throughout the frightened crowd. How many of them had waited for him to challenge Muzien, Haern wondered. How many had pinned desperate hopes on the symbol of his bloody eye scrawled over the star? Now came the long-awaited challenge. Shaking his head, Haern had to laugh. Surrounded by nearly two hundred members of his guild? Not exactly the fairest of battlegrounds.

  It seemed Muzien’s proclamation was finished, or at least had momentarily paused. He gestured to one of the men beside him, who went running to the cart. Eyes narrowing, Haern watched the cart roll up beside the three. Among the stones he saw thick planks of wood. Heart leaping to his throat, he realized what they were for.

  “We go, now,” Haern said.

  “Not yet,” Zusa hissed. “We have to wait!”

  He could ignore her. A large part of him wanted to. Just leap out the window, assault every man and woman bearing the symbol of the Sun, and then pray reinforcements came in time. Only the tiniest sliver of control held him back. As the guildmembers began lifting out the planks of wood and heavy stones, Muzien turned and gave them an order Haern could not hear, but reading the words on his lips was easy enough: Start with the girl.

  Two men pinned her down, one holding her ankles, the other her arms above her head. Brug began to struggle beside her, earning himself a kick to the face. On the other side, Tarlak only lay there staring, and Haern had an inkling the wizard was drugged. One of the wood planks settled over Delysia’s body, covering her from her neck to her knees. That done, Muzien’s men took the first of the blocks, heavy pieces of granite used to repair the wall surrounding the city, and set it down on the wood.

  “Every moment I wait, we place another,” Muzien shouted to the city. “The weight will crush her, breaking her bones and choking the life from her lungs. What is she worth to you, Watcher? Your friends here, are they less important than your pride?”

  Another stone atop the wood.

  “How many broken bones will it take to teach you humility?”

  Haern’s blood was on fire. Muzien bent down, yanked Delysia’s gag free, and then motioned for them to place a third stone. The crowd had fallen silent at the display, making it all too easy to hear Delysia’s pained cries. When they set down the stone, and she let out a horrific shriek, Haern felt Zusa grab his shoulder.

  “Go,” she said. “But not with blades drawn. Give him what he wants.”

  Sickening as it was, Haern knew she was right. Taking in a deep breath, he stepped on the edge of the open window, leaned out, and then dropped to the ground. Immediately the people who saw him scattered, giving him an open path to the fountain. He kept his hands at either side, balled into fists to prevent himself from drawing his sabers. The shadow of his hood lightened, Haern keeping its magic weak so they could all see the fury in his eyes.

  “I’m here,” he told Muzien, and his voice carried like the winds of a tornado.

  The elf turned, and his grin was from ear to ear. He hovered his foot a moment over the pinned Delysia, then shifted so he stepped down from the fountain just beside her instead. His arms were open, as if he moved to greet a long-lost friend. The sickening amusement in his eyes betrayed his true desires.

  “At last,” Muzien said, still projecting so all the crowd could hear. “You have fought against me, but it is time to accept the changing winds. Kneel, Watcher. Bow, remove your hood, and beg for forgiveness. Only then will I remove the weight and spare your friends’ lives. You need not die this morning, and neither must they. All I ask for is a single act of humility.”

  All eyes were upon them, and Haern realized he had never been witnessed by so many simultaneously. Here he was, their midnight specter, in plain sight beneath the morning sun. Most of Muzien’s men had belonged to the Spiders, the Serpents, the Wolves … they had all feared his wrath over the past years. What Haern said now, what he did … it would carry throughout the city. It would define their memory of him, perhaps forever. Trusting his friends and allies, he let his cloaks fall across his body, hiding his hands, which dropped to the hilts of his sabers.

  “I will never kneel,” he seethed, the magic of his stolen hood ensuring all for hundreds of yards heard his whisper. “I will never bow. I have bled for these people, and I will die for them, all so they might know a measure of peace. This city is not yours to rule, Darkhand, and it never will be. You’re not a king. You’re not a god. You’re a leech with a crown, and it’s time we ripped you from our flesh.”

  It seemed a shadow fell across Muzien’s face, though his smile remained.

  “Draw your blades, Watcher,” he said. “Let us see whose crown breaks this day.”

  An open path was all that separated the two, but just as Haern moved to leap forward, a brilliant red light flashed between them, followed by a gust of air and a thundering boom. Stone cracked, and Haern turned his head to the side to protect his eyes from the thin slivers of stone that flew in all directions.

  Into the silence that followed came laughter, stealing attention to the rooftops nearby. Atop them stood Deathmask, his face covered by his gray mask and a swirling vortex of ash. At his left were the identical twins, Mier and Nien, twirling their daggers, while at his side crouched the crimson-haired Veliana.

  “Come now,” said the leader of the Ash Guild, a sparkle in his eyes. “You weren’t thinking of having fun without me, were you two?”

  Muzien glared up to the rooftop.

  “Bring me his head,” he ordered his men.

  “That’s funny,” Deathmask said, not afraid in the slightest. “I was about to give the same order.”

  And then the horns sounded, coming from all four directions of the crossroads. Panic spread through Muzien’s men as they turned to face the roads they guarded, only to see squads of armored soldiers approaching in formation. Haern spared only a moment’s glance before turning his attention back to Muzien. If the elf held the key to the tiles, and he felt the day lost, he might activate them all. The air was thick with tension and screams and the sound of swords being drawn. Through it all Muzien stood perfectly still, unafraid. If anything, he looked disappointed.

  “This city could have had peace,” he said, staring straight at Haern. “Know that these deaths are on your hands.”

  He put his blackened fingers to his lips and whistled. Haern dashed forward, pushing aside any rememb
rance of their previous fight, and the humiliation he’d suffered. This was it, their best chance to defeat him. He would not dare lose it now.

  Muzien’s blades were drawn by the time Haern crashed into him, unleashing a barrage of cuts and slashes. Each one rang against steel as Muzien wove his defense, fluid as a dancer, strong as a lion. Haern slashed thrice, leaped back to gain distance for another charge, and then the explosions hit. In all four directions they roared, that horribly familiar sight of purple flame rising up from the demolished streets. Stone flew, and from all about came screams of the wounded. Some were of soldiers, some of Muzien’s guildmembers, but oh so many were not.

  The cries of battle heightened tenfold. From what little Haern could see, the explosions had struck Victor’s men on their approach. He couldn’t begin to guess the casualties. The remnants fought on, slamming into Muzien’s lines, while Deathmask descended upon them from up high, shadow and flame bursting from his hands. The rest of his guild followed, the expert fighters cutting through the group of fifty attempting to secure the north road. Amid all the fire and chaos, innocent men and women tried in vain to flee to safety.

  “You bastard,” Haern said as the sound of steel on steel overwhelmed the screams.

  “On your head, remember,” said Muzien. “You could have knelt.”

  The elf charged, his speed incredible. Before his sabers first made contact Haern was already retreating, batting them from side to side in rapid cuts to prevent Muzien’s sudden flurry from overwhelming him. It almost didn’t matter. Muzien’s strokes, while seemingly random, were guiding Haern’s hands, manipulating his blocks, and it was only when he fell for a feint, leaving his chest wide open, that he realized his error.

  But instead of going for the kill, the elf somersaulted backward. Haern’s confusion lasted only a half-second, and then Zusa came slamming in from the sky, daggers piercing the dirt. She recovered instantly, and she did not attack alone. Together she and Haern rushed the elf, shifting to either side so they might flank him.

  “To me!” Muzien cried to his guild as he spun. With one hand devoted to either, he kept shifting, twisting, and to Haern’s shock, he even stayed on the offensive. Back and forth between them he bounced, slamming aside Zusa’s daggers, then missing a killing thrust by only an inch as the woman arced her back and fell away. Haern rushed to protect her, only to find himself screaming as the edge of a sword sliced through his arm, Muzien having predicted the move and swung blindly behind him. Praying the cut wasn’t deep, Haern blocked the next few attacks Muzien unleashed against him, the elf ignoring Zusa as if she were no longer there. From the glimpses he saw of her, it might have been true. Three members of the Sun had rushed to the aid of their master, and they surrounded her.

  “All for your pride,” Muzien said, shaking the blade that had scored the cut so the blood on it would fleck away. “I had no desire to kill you, Watcher. You were merely bait.”

  “Bait?” Haern asked. “Bait for who?”

  In answer, Muzien’s eyes flicked to something just beyond Haern, and his grin hardened.

  “Him.”

  Haern risked the glance, trusting his reflexes in case it was a trap. Cutting his way through members of the Sun, his short swords performing butcher’s work, was his father. Amid such chaos, none could stand against him.

  “No more games,” Thren said, stalking forward like a predator, no hesitation, no delay, just drawn swords caked with blood at his sides. “Kill him, and end this farce.”

  Each step gained him more momentum, so that by the time he reached Haern his father was in full sprint. Haern dashed with him, heart pounding, blood pumping in his veins. His focus narrowed, and it seemed time slowed as his sabers slammed into Muzien’s blocking sword. Twice more he cut in while moving in a semicircle, putting him to the elf’s back. On the other side his father crashed in like a mad bull, blasting his swords in with all his strength. Muzien kept his feet moving, shifting between them so they could never have him fully flanked. Haern thrust with his left hand, pulled back with his right, and then instead of attacking with the other he leaped forward, hoping the sudden burst would surprise the elf.

  Surprise, however, was with Muzien. His body shimmered, then vanished, immediately reappearing behind Thren. Haern dodged right, only barely avoiding impaling his father, and then dashed around Thren so he might hurl himself between Thren and Muzien’s killing thrust. He batted the first aside, blocked a second coming from up high, then retreated before the two looped around and knifed past his defenses. Haern halted after only a few steps, for Thren was with him, and together they launched another offensive.

  A ring on Muzien’s dark hand flashed red, and then there were two of the elf, one leaping left, the other right. Haern and Thren reacted on instinct, each taking a direction. Haern extended in mid-run, hoping to slash one of Muzien’s legs to hobble his movement, but his blade cut only air. The image of Muzien vanished, and the moment it did, Haern dug in his feet and then burst into a run in the other direction. Momentarily alone, Thren and Muzien tore into one another, feet firmly planted, their swords ringing and dancing with awe-inspiring speed. When their blades connected, challenging each other’s strength, Haern came racing in from the side, hoping to thrust a saber through the elf’s ribs.

  The rest of the carnage was but background noise to Haern as his swords came knifing in. Again he felt time slow, felt his heart leap when Muzien suddenly flung back his father as if he were a child, then whirled in place. The motion gave him speed, and his arms extended, lashing out with his swords. A trap, Haern realized, the weapons a split second away from his neck. A sudden hard tug on the back of Haern’s cloak spared him, killing his momentum so that Muzien’s blade slashed an inch from his throat. Stumbling to regain his balance, Haern saw Zusa leap back into the fray, joining Thren’s side.

  They were masters, all of them, and when Haern came to their aid from the other side, Muzien could only retreat. Still they could not entrap him, his movements too quick, his awareness so great he would leap away at the last minute, twisting and ducking beneath what should have been fatal blows. Haern raced after, only for the elf to step onto the fountain and then leap to the statue in its center. Kicking off it, he sailed higher, back toward the three. Haern thought him preparing one final desperate assault, but then he shimmered, vanishing into nothing.

  “Damn it,” Thren said, spinning and pointing. Muzien had reappeared fifty feet directly forward, tumbling onto a rooftop. Before they could even think to chase, the elf was gone, rushing madly to the south, long coat flapping behind him.

  When the elf was out of sight, Haern rushed to the only other thing that mattered: his friends.

  During the chaos, it looked like the three had been left alone, Muzien’s men having far more important things to do than watch over the prisoners. Haern wrapped his arms around the first of the stones and lifted it up just enough to move it, letting it thud down beside Delysia. He did the same with the other two, working as fast as his tired body would let him. With the last gone, he flung aside the wood plank and lifted Delysia up against him, wrapping his cloaks about her naked body.

  “Are you all right?” he asked her as she clutched him tightly. He’d tried not to look upon her in such an indecent state, but his quick glimpse had shown enormous bruises growing all across her body. His rage burned anew, his jaw trembling and his hands shaking as he held the softly crying Delysia.

  “I thought he’d kill you,” Delysia whispered. “You should have left me, Haern. You should have…”

  “Enough of that,” Haern said. With her finally safe, he dared take stock of the surroundings. Bodies of men, women, and children filled the center square. Some were cut, some burned, some wore the four-pointed star, some wore mercenary armor. Far too many wore neither, just simple clothing that could not protect them against the rising chaos of daggers and unholy magic. Muzien’s men were fleeing in all directions, their lines broken by Victor’s soldiers. Deathmask stoo
d amid a circle of bodies to the north, laughing as he flung a dart of fire into the face of a man in full retreat from Veliana’s wicked daggers. Before him was a crater caused by the detonation of one of Muzien’s tiles. Victor’s men had been hit particularly hard there, and dozens of armored men lay about, their bodies mutilated by the power of the explosion. Though they were only four, the Ash Guild had massacred their opponents just as well as the other squads of forty. As for Thren and Zusa, neither was to be seen.

  We won, thought Haern, letting out a sigh as the high-pitched keening of an abandoned child punctuated the ending of the battle. Such a high cost, but at least we won.

  Haern detached one of his cloaks so Delysia could keep it about her. Kissing her forehead, he gently separated himself, then reached down and ripped the gag from Brug’s mouth.

  “About damn time you remembered we were here, too,” the captive man grumbled.

  Haern had no heart for the banter. Two quick cuts with his knife removed the bindings around the man’s wrists and ankles.

  “There’s plenty of dead around,” Haern told him. “Go find a cloak or something for you and Tar.”

  Turning his attention to the wizard, he frowned, not liking what he saw. Tarlak’s eyes were wide and glassy, but when Haern touched his neck, he still felt a pulse.

  “They drugged him,” Delysia said, kneeling down beside her brother. “They were afraid of what he could do if he awoke and used his magic.”

  Haern removed the gag, then cut the ropes. He noticed Tarlak’s eyes were able to follow him slowly, as if the eyeballs were moving through ice.

  “This should do until we get home,” Brug said, returning with one of the Sun Guild’s long coats. He wore a pair of breeches, the front stained with blood. Haern doubted he cared.

  “Thanks,” Haern said. Looping an arm underneath him, he raised the wizard to his feet. The man cooperated, but sluggishly, as if he were struggling to emerge from within a deep sleep. Haern put the coat on him and buttoned it shut as Delysia reached a hand out from her cloak, putting a hand on her brother’s face. Tears in her eyes, she closed them and whispered the words of a prayer. Light shone across her fingers, dim but consistent, before sinking into the wizard’s skin.