“Or should I call you Zusa?” he continued when she refused to acknowledge him. “I thought I’d rescued whoever you were before the religious dogma and abuse changed you, but apparently I was wrong. You’re still a slave, though the god you serve appears to have changed. You bow before the Gemcrofts now, don’t you?”
Zusa refused to give him anything. It hardly seemed to surprise him.
“I’ve dug into your past,” he said, coming closer and kneeling down so he could stare at her level. “Not hard after knowing of your connection to the Gemcrofts. You see, there’s these … whispers about Alyssa I never quite understood. A wrapped woman who helped seal her ascension by killing Yoren and Theo Kull, a lurking specter who watched after her, guarded her. I thought them merely stories or rumors, ways to make her mercenaries seem more special than they were. But you … you’ve been the one at her side, haven’t you? Her loyal shadow, her little lapdog?”
She kept her mouth shut, but her glare was answer enough. Muzien let out a sigh, and he rose back to a stand.
“So disappointing,” he said, beginning to pace, hands deep in the pockets of his coat. “Twice I’ve had you imprisoned before me, but I fear this second meeting will not go as well as the first. You had such potential, Zusa. The way you kill, it is such savage beauty to behold, yet to turn on me in my hour of need, as if a mere mask and hood would prevent me from recognizing your masterful grace … it’s as baffling as it is insulting.”
His darkened hand touched her chin, forcing her to look at him.
“I hold no doubt you’ve cast aside your faith in Karak; you never lied to me on that. But for you to be in Alyssa’s pay doesn’t feel right. You can’t have betrayed me just for coin. I could give you more with far less risk, and you’re a wise enough woman to know that. Power? I am true power, while Alyssa is a fading light. So what answer is left, Zusa? Come, surely you are willing to save yourself the pain and torture I would inflict upon you to have my answer. What is it that Alyssa offered you?”
Zusa pulled away from his touch, closed her eyes, and did her best to ignore his words, his presence. Crouching her body in tighter, she leaned against the wall, pretended to be far, far away. She’d been taught how to endure torture in her training as a faceless. Muzien would be better at it than most, and he certainly could break her in time. Her only hope was that time was something Muzien did not have. Cheek pressed against the rough wood, she thought of her visit to Angelport, her youth with the other faceless; anything other than Alyssa, and the answer to Muzien’s question.
A sharp blade pressed against her throat, then a hand grabbed her hair to yank her gaze back to him.
“I am not one you should ever ignore,” he told her, eyes so close she could almost feel the anger and disgust rolling off him. “You’ve betrayed me, Zusa, and you have no idea how terrible a choice that was.”
“You think I’m afraid to die?” she asked him as the blade pressed tighter against her flesh. “Do it. Cut open my throat.”
His lips pressed against her ear.
“No.”
He let her go, put away his blade.
“I want my answers,” he said. “And I will get them, one way or another … though I feel I already have one of them. You aren’t afraid of dying; that much is obvious. You didn’t betray me for coin, nor for power. So that leaves two possible solutions as to why you would remain so loyal to Alyssa, even now refusing to turn against her when facing torture and death. Either you feel you are in her debt … or you love her.”
Zusa tried to remain perfectly still, to let the comment wash over her as if it meant nothing at all, but the wounds were too fresh. Alyssa’s words hammered in her head. Muzien watched her like a hawk, searching for the slightest bit of information, and it seemed something in her reaction caught his notice. His eyes narrowed, and he halted his pacing.
“It’d be a powerful debt indeed to have earned so many years of loyal service,” he said. “But love … I wonder, Zusa, is love what keeps your lips sealed? Not surprising, really, given how love’s irrationality answers so many of my questions. I’m curious … does Alyssa love you back?”
Out came his dagger, and before she could react he’d already cut off a lock of her hair. Seeing her hair held in his blackened fingers unnerved her to no end.
“Love and loyalty,” he said. “We’ll discover just how deep each goes when Alyssa discovers you’re my prisoner. Will she ransom for your life, Zusa? Offer an exchange? Send out soldiers? Or will she leave you here to die alone and unworthy of the risk…?”
“You damn fool,” she said. “The city isn’t yours, Muzien. It isn’t now, and it never will be. Thren, the Watcher … they’ll kill you. It’s only a matter of time, and when it happens, I can’t wait to watch every single thing you think you’ve built come crumbling down.”
At last it seemed she’d struck a nerve. His darkened hand grabbed her by the neck, squeezing hard enough to choke. His flesh … it was so hot, so cracked, it seemed a demon of the Abyss held her, not an elf.
“This city,” he hissed into her ear, “this overcrowded pit of humans, is mine. The only fools here are those who would resist the inevitable.”
He let her go, and she gasped in air despite the horrible ache in her throat. Muzien put his back to her, just for a moment, and when he turned around he was his calm, cool self again. If anything, he looked to be in a better mood.
“You’ve given away your loyalty at last,” he said, smiling at her. “You love Alyssa, don’t you? It’s almost … adorable, really. Like seeing a lovesick puppy licking at her master’s boot. You never thought she loved you back, did you? I hope not. That would only make your betrayal of me all the more pathetic.”
“Fuck you,” Zusa spit. “Just kill me so I don’t have to listen to this nonsense.”
Muzien smiled, and he waved the cut piece of hair before her.
“If I thought you beyond saving, I would, but you’re not. You are a complicated thing, which means the complications must be removed so you might reach your true pinnacle. Alyssa, and your love of her, is one of these complications. So that means we need to discover just how much Alyssa loves you, and how dedicated she is to your release. Once I have my answer, I’ll capture her just like I captured you. I’ll bring you two together, and then I’ll make you watch as I cut into her. I’ll make you watch as she bleeds, and screams, and begs for death. And when I’ve wrung every drop of enjoyment from her suffering, I’ll hand you the blade. Then, when the only mercy you can offer her is a swift execution, we shall see just how much you truly love her. There is still hope for you, Zusa. There is still a future where you wield your skill and power in service of a worthy master. But it won’t be with a divided heart.”
He brushed her face with his blackened hand, the heat of it sending a wave of repulsion traveling down her spine.
“A worthy master,” he whispered. “All your life you’ve sought to serve, first Karak, then his priests, and now Alyssa Gemcroft. It’s all you know, isn’t it? You’re a woman of loyalty, of devotion … but you’ve been casting diamonds before the feet of beggars. It isn’t too late to open your eyes. A worthy master, Zusa. That’s all you’ve ever lacked, but one is before you now.”
“Never,” she said. “Kill me, torture me, do whatever sick act you can conceive. I will never serve you.”
He smiled that dangerous smile of his.
“My dear Zusa,” he said, “never is such a very long time. Thren will soon make another move against me, and when he does, I will kill him, and the Watcher as well. When those two die, and Alyssa’s body rots on the floor beside you, there will be no one left to resist me. The city will be mine, and once that happens, I will have all the time in the world to teach you the meaning of loyalty.”
He slapped her across the face, gently, almost playfully, and then strode toward the door on the far side of the room.
“You swore your life to me,” he called out over his shoulder. “Never forget it
, because I assure you, I never will.”
The door opened and slammed shut, and then Zusa was alone with the bright light of the torches and the burning terror of her thoughts, both equally cruel, both unwilling to let her escape.
CHAPTER
21
Antonil Copernus stared at the bodies as his soldiers cut them down from the fountain. Their blood mixed with the fountain’s waters, coloring it a muddy red. There was no need to check, but as the four were dragged out onto the stone, Antonil ordered the soldiers to do so anyway. Opening the shirts of his dead soldiers, they found the four-pointed star carved into their flesh, some on the chest, some on the abdomen. Just like the three men the day before, and the two before that, all starting with the king’s adviser, Gerand Crold.
“More and more every day,” said one of his soldiers, a young man obviously shaken by the sight.
“Which is why we must remain vigilant,” Antonil said, clapping him on the shoulder. “One day it will be zero, because we’ll have finally broken the Sun Guild and their master.”
“Begging your pardon, sir, but the Darkhand doesn’t seem like the type to be broken.”
The corners of Antonil’s mouth twitched, the only hint he’d give of his inward wince at the words.
“Inform their families,” he ordered, turning north toward the castle and marching away. He tried not to dwell on the soldier’s fears as he moved through the quiet evening streets, but he failed. No, the Darkhand did not seem like the type to be broken, yet despite their resurgence in guarding the streets, along with over a dozen men they’d arrested bearing the symbol of the Sun, the city had not been consumed by fire and destruction. No, instead they continually found members of the city guard hanging from the fountain, and something about it felt … petty. Not grandiose. Not a statement. Just a petty resistance to a change the Darkhand could not stop. Despite the deaths, it gave Antonil a sliver of hope.
Not that it did much to help his mood. Distant change was not something the king was fond of, and every day Antonil was forced to endure the young brat’s terrified ranting. Every day the king insisted they return to ignoring the Sun Guild, and every day Antonil responded the same way.
“This city can only have one king, and if you cower now, it will not be you.”
If there was anything Edwin was afraid of, it was losing his tentative hold on power. So Antonil insisted the man would remain safe in his castle … and did not mention the tiles lining its outer walls, tiles that could bring the whole thing crumbling down in a heartbeat.
Sometimes those incapable of handling the truth are best left in the dark, he thought as he neared the castle. Such a damn shame our king has to be one of them.
As he reached the steps, he heard a commotion behind him, and when he turned he saw a lone soldier running as fast as his armor would allow, resulting in a rather obnoxious rattling of plate and chain. Frowning, Antonil stepped in his way and raised a hand.
“At ease,” he said. “What is the rush?”
The soldier was a man Antonil recognized, whose station was at the western gate. His face and neck were covered with sweat, and after a bow, he spoke in short, quick sentences while attempting to catch his breath.
“I’ve a message for the king,” he said. “Well, not a message. A request.”
“A request for what?” Antonil asked. “And from whom?”
The soldier looked torn between amusement and frustration, and he swallowed before answering.
“Perhaps it’s best I met with you first, sir,” he said. “There is an elf at the western gate of our city. He wanted in, but we denied him. Seemed the safest thing to do until we asked. So he’s outside waiting with his, uh, horse. Won’t tell us what he wants, only that he’ll speak with the king.”
Antonil frowned.
“Do you think he’ll speak with me?”
The soldier shrugged.
“When it comes to elves, does anyone know anything? Maybe yes, maybe no. But when it comes to our king, well…” The soldier paused, and he blatantly looked over Antonil’s shoulder to the castle. “I know who’d be more willing to listen, and who’d do a better job speaking, when it comes to an elf.”
They were dangerous words, and a sentiment that had been growing over the past year, particularly since Muzien’s arrival and the king’s complete unwillingness, or inability, to control his own capital city. Antonil knew he’d need to eventually clamp down on the open admission of such feelings, but deep down, he felt a total lack of energy to put toward such an effort. Perhaps when things calmed down, assuming they ever did.
“Go back to your post,” Antonil said. “I’ll see if this elf will speak with me. Whoever he is, he has no right to appear unannounced and demand an audience with His Majesty.”
“Of course,” said the soldier, bowing low. Spinning on his feet, he marched back down the street, and after a moment’s hesitation, Antonil followed.
It’s not like things can get much worse, thought Antonil. We’re due for good news, I’d say. Maybe he’s here to bring back one of their own …
Other elves scouring the city to drag Muzien out by his feet was an amusing thought, but sadly impossible. The king would never allow so many elves into his city, not after what had happened in the southern city of Angelport.
Back through his city he marched, and he took pleasure in noting far fewer marks of the Sun Guild on the people. Prior to the bloody battle at the fountain, his men and women had grown brazen, but now … now there were only the tiles proclaiming the Sun Guild’s power. Antonil felt a shiver at the remembrance of what they could do, and he did his best to push it from his mind. Such things were currently beyond him, and he had to pray that somehow things would turn out fine in the end.
At the western gate, Antonil saw a larger-than-usual gathering of his men, no doubt ogling the elf on the other side.
“Get back to your posts,” he told them as he pushed through, exited the enormous gates, and stepped out to greet his strange visitor.
It was the elf’s horse that first grabbed Antonil’s attention, not the elf himself. The beast was magnificent, tall and strong, and head to hoof colored a brilliant white. From its back grew enormous wings, which were currently folded in and pressed against its sides. With its huge eyes, it watched Antonil as he approached, and when its elven master bowed his head in respect, so too did the horse.
“Greetings,” said the elf. “I am Dieredon, scoutmaster of the Quellan elves. With whom do I speak?”
He was tall, tanned, his long brown hair carefully trimmed and braided away from his face. Though his tone and expression were serious, his voice lacked the smugness and condescension Antonil had expected.
“My name is Antonil Copernus, and I am responsible for the safety of His Majesty’s city,” Antonil said, and despite an initial hesitation, he bowed his head also. So what if he is an elf of a foreign land? decided Antonil. A little civility might go a long way. Dieredon patted the horse beside him, then gestured to the castle in the distance, just barely visible beyond the top of the wall.
“Do you come speaking for your king?” he asked.
A tricky question. Antonil didn’t want to lie, nor did he wish to be dismissed or ignored due to his station.
“No, I do not,” he said. “But I am the closest you will reach to speaking with the king in this lifetime, Scoutmaster, so whatever message you have come to deliver, you may deliver it to me instead, and I will relay it to His Majesty if I deem it important.”
The elf tilted his head, and then, to Antonil’s shock, he laughed.
“Important?” he asked. “I come to aid your city, yet you would demean my potential words and insult me with politics and denials to meet your king? Perhaps I should just leave you to your fate, if you would be so insulting.”
“Wait,” Antonil said before the elf could turn to leave. “I did not mean to speak so harshly. I only wish to convey the fears of His Majesty. His ears will not be open to you, nor his mi
nd, nor his heart. But I am here, and I will listen, and whatever message you carry I will do what I can to make sure he listens with mind, heart, and ears open … because it will come from human lips.”
What he spoke was borderline traitorous, he knew, but beneath the elf’s ire he sensed something terrible lurking, and had to know what. Besides, there were no other ears listening. For some reason, should Dieredon tell the king what he spoke, well … it’d be his word against the word of an elf. There’d be no contest. As for his plea, it seemed to have worked, for Dieredon’s face softened.
“Forgive me,” he said. “I’m a fool if I would pretend at my kingdom being any more free of prejudices than yours, and even if it were, I will not leave you to your fate due to my pride. An army approaches, Guard Captain, thousands of orcs gathered together under one banner, and they’ll be at Veldaren’s walls within days.”
Antonil’s entire body froze.
“An army of thousands?” he asked. “That’s impossible.”
“Surely you know their numbers exceed that in the Vile Wedge,” Dieredon said. “Though perhaps you don’t, given your isolation here.”
“No, not that,” Antonil said, shaking his head. “They are all trapped within the Vile Wedge. Even with the Citadel’s fall, there is no way for them to cross the grand chasm unless they travel so far south they must pass through the Hillock, if not the Kingstrip beyond that. How could an army of foul monsters cross such a distance unnoticed with those numbers?”
“There is a space the orcs call the Bone Ditch,” Dieredon said. “It is the most slender gap of the canyon, and they’ve used it as a burial place for centuries. They had … aid in crossing the Bone Ditch, and then skirted north of the Hillock and the waters of Sully Lake. They now approach the King’s Forest. You must prepare your defenses, and summon whatever troops you can.”
A Dance of Chaos: Book 6 of Shadowdance Page 22
