David Dalglish: A Dance of Ghosts

As he stared, he saw someone crouching at the edge of a building, watching. Thren grunted, and he pretended not to see. Down the street he walked, aimless, in no hurry. He didn’t want to let whoever tailed him realize he’d been spotted, not yet …

The tail was on the rooftop on the right side of the street, so once Thren reached an alley on his left, he suddenly sprinted down it, racing as fast as his legs could carry him. He’d thought it’d be an easy enough task to leave whoever it was behind, but instead, he had to come to a sliding halt before reaching the other side. A man had stepped out, the four-pointed star sewn onto the front of his shirt, the daggers in his hands gleaming in the moonlight. Spinning about, Thren saw the other entrance blocked by two more. Gritting his teeth, he looked skyward, saw three more lurking above him, faces hidden by the hoods of their cloaks.

Damn it, Thren swore. Someone alerted them, but who? Martin? The barkeep?

Assuming he lived, Thren knew who the first would be to serve as an example for those who would deny his return.

“Thren Felhorn,” said a haunting voice behind him. Slowly, Thren turned, pulled the hood away from his face, and stood tall before his former master.

“It’s been a long time, Muzien,” Thren said to the elf at the far end of the alley, flanked by two more of his guild. “Have you finally come to greet me?”

Muzien stepped into the alley, eyes like ice, mutilated ears seeming all the more grotesque with the way the moonlight colored them, making the scars seem almost purple.

“It seems I must,” said the elf. “For you sneaked into my home and did not think to seek me out.”

Your home?

It made Thren want to smack him across the face with a blade, but he kept his temper in check. If there was one thing Muzien knew how to wield as both weapon and shield, it was arrogance.

“It has been my home for far longer,” Thren said. “I’d like to think of it as you merely borrowing the place prior to my return.”

Muzien smiled, but there was no enjoyment in it. It was a smile Thren recognized all too well from growing up under Muzien’s tutelage. It meant the elf was tiring of a game, and when he tired of a game, he didn’t stop playing. He simply won it.

“You know you have no more power here,” Muzien said. “And I will not pretend otherwise to satisfy your tired pride. This is my city now, Thren, and if you wish to live in it, I will have you bow before me and serve.”

Thren glanced back to the rooftops. All three above had crossbows drawn and aimed. Much as he wanted to make a move toward the elf, he knew he’d die before ever getting close, and that wasn’t counting the two at his side who would certainly move to block the way.

“Why now?” Thren asked. “I’ve done everything you asked. You wanted me to come to Veldaren, and I did. You wanted me to create an empire, and I did. Everything you taught me, I used. Every trick and scheme, I performed to the highest of standards. Yet you sent Grayson in to kill me, and now your guild has moved in, crushing everything I built. I was your heir, damn you, so tell me what I did that had you turn on me so.”

Muzien approached, and with a wave of his hand, those with him stayed behind. Confidence, Thren knew. Arrogance. No fear of him whatsoever, and if Thren were honest with himself, he knew it was true. Muzien had taught him all he knew of swordplay, and not once had he ever, ever won a duel. The elf’s face remained cold, passive, but his blue eyes seemed to sparkle with a disgust Thren felt betrayed by. What had he ever done to deserve such emotion?

“You were indeed my heir,” Muzien said. “I put my years into you, training you, molding your mind and body. A single breath of mine is worth more than the lifetime of your kind, yet still I devoted it to your betterment, creating an heir worthy of my legacy. A worthy heir, Thren. I could name any fool as my successor, but I desired someone who could keep my empire together instead of letting it crumble mere moments after my death. Yet you…”

Muzien gestured about.

“What is your legacy here? Everything you built fell to ashes and dirt, and from what? An interloping lord, a few wealthy merchants, and a mysterious vigilante killer?”

“You belittle my challenges,” Thren said.

“Your challenges belittle you! I listened to the excuses. I observed from afar as your war was waged, as the Trifect bled and the guilds consumed one another. At last, I knew I had to come for myself. What did I accomplish in your absence? Domination, Thren. In four months, I have accomplished what you have not in all your years stalking these streets. Four months.”

The elf shook his head.

“I know your abilities. I know what you can do, and everything I have done was always within your reach. Something held you back, Thren. What, I cannot guess. I thought I had purged your weaknesses, but some remain. Complacency, in merely ruling a few guilds? Foolishness, in trusting the wrong men? Cowardice, in signing the Watcher’s agreement? I’d ask, but truth be told, Thren … I don’t care. You are old and unworthy. With Grayson dead, I must begin anew and adopt new heirs to potentially inherit my wealth and power. It won’t be you. It cannot be.”

“Do you think to insult me?” Thren asked as Muzien turned away. “That I want to inherit a single coin after your death? I built everything here on my own, and I will do it again if I must. No matter how certain you are, Muzien, this city will never be yours. I won’t allow it. I will leave you with a graveyard of fire and death before I let you pretend to be its god.”

Muzien turned back about, his blue eyes seemingly on fire with his rage. Closer he came, towering before him, their faces mere inches apart. So close. So easily could Thren draw a blade, but instead, he met Muzien’s gaze and refused to back down.

“ How? ” Muzien asked, full of mockery, that one word defining his entire opinion of Thren and his worth.

Thren gave no answer. He dared not even move. The slightest insult meant death. He would challenge the Darkhand in time, but not yet. Not there … and not alone.

“I thought not,” Muzien said. “I’d hoped you could at least loyally serve, despite your faults, until a new heir could be trained. I had even entertained the idea of you helping with the training, but that was my own fault for thinking you could be of any use.”

He turned, long coat flapping behind him as he strode away.

“Get out of my city, Thren,” Muzien called after, not bothering to turn around. “The next time we meet, it will end with your head in a bag.”

And just like that, they were gone. The Suns at either side of the alley vanished, and when he looked up, the rooftops were clear, only stars looking back. Thren stood there, breathing heavily, doing his best to stay calm. Despite all his years, he’d never once endured such disrespect from his teacher as he had then. Before, Muzien had always believed there was some sort of promise in him and Grayson, something special and worthy of his time. No longer.

“Your city?” Thren whispered. “This isn’t your city. It will never be your city, not while I live.”

The elf’s words repeated in his head, deepening his anger. “ How? ” Muzien had asked, as if there were no possible way, as if the task were so insurmountable. Thren, a mere human, overthrow the demigod that was Muzien?

But it wasn’t impossible. In fact, it was terrifyingly easy.

“Fire and destruction,” Thren whispered, echoing the words Luther had spoken just before his death. From underneath his shirt he pulled out Luther’s medallion, held the cold metal in his palm.