David Dalglish - A Dance of Shadows

The intruder chuckled. “I could, but that wouldn’t be interesting, would it? Allow me to introduce myself. I am Deathmask, leader of the Ash Guild, and I’ve come with a proposal.”

Victor felt his muscles relax, but only a little. The intruder didn’t seem particularly dangerous, and he carried no visible weapons. He leaned with his back against the door, his arms crossed over his chest.

“A proposal?” Victor asked, thinking to stall. He took a single step toward the man, shifting himself closer to his weapon.

“Two proposals, actually,” Deathmask said. “First proposal is that you don’t do anything stupid like calling for guards, or grabbing that sword of yours. Once I hear an answer to that one, we can move on to proposal number two.”

Victor felt his heart skip a beat, and he stepped away from the bed, toward his bookcase.

“So be it,” he said, clenching his fists at his sides. “I am listening.”

“Excellent. Now, to make sure we both understand each other… you do know who I am, right?”

Victor nodded. He’d done extensive research on the various guilds before coming to Veldaren, learning what he could about their leaders, their habits, vices, and weaknesses. As for the Ash Guild…

“You’re the one guild that made the least sense,” Victor said. “Run by a man called eccentric at best, insane at worst. Four years ago you usurped control from Garrick Lowe, killing or disbanding nearly the entire guild. Estimates vary, but all claim you now have fewer than ten members. One man suggested there were only four of you, but that is ridiculous.”

“Is it?” Deathmask asked, grinning. “No, that’s true. There are just the four of us. Smaller than the rest of the guilds, sure, but I’ve found having a few dangerous, intelligent people is far better than having a guild full of mouth breathers.”

Victor’s mind clicked, and he shook his head in disbelief.

“And easier to split the rather handsome sum the Trifect pays for protection, correct?”

Deathmask shrugged. “That too.”

Victor shifted closer to his weapon, then relaxed. If Deathmask hadn’t killed him yet, he wasn’t going to… at least not until he had an answer to his proposition.

“Why are you here?” Victor asked.

“I could ask the same of you,” Deathmask said, tapping his fingers together. “A long-vanished lord returns with a miniature army, with the sole aim to clear out the guilds? Preposterous. But I do not care, because that is not how I operate, Victor. Why you do what you do is irrelevant to me. All that matters is that things go as I desire, and right now… I’d like to help you.”

“Help me?” Victor lifted an eyebrow. “How?”

“I can give you names, locations, shipping dates… or I could bring you bodies. Either is fine with me.”

Victor shook his head. “This won’t protect you, Deathmask. I offer no clemency, not to anyone. I will not accept the help of the very criminals I have come to eradicate.”

“You mistake me,” Deathmask said, stepping closer. A fire burned bright in his mismatched eyes. “I seek no pardon, no clemency, for I won’t need it. Tell me, of all the men who wilted before your inquisition, how many have spoken my name? How many pointed their finger at the Ash Guild?”

Victor had not studied the entirety of the lists, but he’d gone over them as the day wore on, and listened in on several confessions. Try as he might, he could think of nothing, and told Deathmask so.

“Exactly,” said the thief. “And you will find nothing. We are not like the others. My guild is not careless, not foolish. No one will turn on me. No one will provide a single bit of evidence for you to use against me in any court, no matter how much of a sham it might be. Your… crusade… is no threat to me, only a nuisance at worst, entertainment at best. So then, now that we might understand each other, recognize that I could be your ally in this instead of your enemy. Let me help you. The destruction of the other guilds is something that would greatly amuse me.”

His words were honey, but his eyes were death. Victor shook his head. “You may pretend, you may feign innocence, but I am no fool. You are murderers, thieves, butchers. I will not taint all that I do with your presence. Not if I am to succeed.”

“I’m a dangerous man to have as an enemy, Victor.”

Victor stood tall and spread his shoulders wide, as if daring the man to strike. “Kill me, then,” he said. “I’ll die eventually, but it won’t be as a hypocrite.”

They stared, matching wills, but then Deathmask broke into a smile. “You fascinate me,” he said. “You won’t die tonight, not by me, anyway.” He turned to the corner of the room, put his hand against it. Shadows swelled, thickening as if into a liquid. The guildmaster looked back. His smile had hardened. “Those who loudest profess the law tend to have the greatest crimes to hide. I wonder just what secrets you have buried deep in the dark soil.”

The darkness swelled, began to swirl. With a mocking bow, Deathmask vanished through it. Just like that the portal was gone, and Victor was alone in his room. He took a step toward the wall and ran his fingers across it. It was cool to the touch, as if a frost had settled over it. He struck it twice, unable to help himself.

“Magic,” he whispered. All his planning, all his care, meant nothing to a man who could walk through walls. And if Deathmask could do so, then others could as well. How long until the Spiders or Serpents obtained a scroll to appear directly below his bed while he slept? He needed defenses, those of the arcane kind. Sleep could wait until it was safe. Grabbing his sword off his bed, he reached for the door, only to have someone knock from the other side. He jumped, then felt his neck blush. Deathmask’s visit had unnerved him more than he’d thought.

“Yes?” he asked, flinging it open. The waiting soldier took a step back, surprised by how quickly Victor had come.

“Milord,” said the soldier. “There’s something we feel you should see.”

Victor thought to ask, then just shook his head. It didn’t matter what it was; he’d need to handle it in person. These first few days were the most fragile. Nothing could be left to chance.

“Lead on,” he said.

Haern rushed across the rooftops, and he was not alone. In the moonlight he saw many others in the distance, scrambling to and fro to avoid the roads. Most fled before his arrival, for they recognized his presence above all others’. He was their watcher, their punisher, their executioner. Victor might be a new enemy, but they still understood who was the deadlier threat.

Reaching the temple to Ashhur, Haern stopped, and atop a two-story building he knelt. The building was rented to large families forced to share such meager rooms. From within he heard a child crying, not loudly, just a constant whimper that put a damper on Haern’s mood. As the moonlight dimmed, thick clouds slowly spreading across the sky let loose a heavy rumble. Rain. Pulling his hood tighter over his head, Haern chuckled. Of course it was raining. The perfect capstone to a long, terrible day. Pausing for a rest, he watched the streets. His brow furrowed when he saw a group of Victor’s men rushing north. They appeared frightened.

His knees cracked as he stood, and he let out a groan. Night after night of stalking the rooftops was taking its toll. He feared one day he wouldn’t be able to walk without a heavy stoop. Haern thought to follow the men, then changed his mind. The alley they’d appeared from led into Spider territory, and by the flickering light, he saw more torches within. The patrols had found something, but what? And more important, how willing would they be to share the discovery with him?