David Dalglish - A Dance of Shadows

Haern only grinned at him. With a sigh Tarlak relented, and took a seat in a wooden rocking chair beside the fire. Removing his yellow hat, he scratched the top of his head with his fingers, then ran them through his red hair to straighten it.

“If we help him, then he’ll live long enough to actually accomplish something,” Tarlak said, all his bluster and anger fading away. “That means the current peace with the thief guilds won’t last. They’ll react soon, and violently. But how? If they focus on just Victor, we might counter, but if they target the rest of the Trifect, Veldaren will fall to chaos within days. It’ll be Thren’s thief war all over again.”

“We can’t let there be another,” Delysia said. She said it softly, but it weighed heavily on her heart. “The last one went on for more than ten years. So many died, so many…”

Haern shifted, feeling uncomfortable, especially with her so close to him. Her father had been just one of the many casualties of that conflict, killed by Thren while Haern watched. It had been his first true mission, to kill Delysia when she fled. But hearing her heartfelt sobbing for her father, and her prayers for safety, he had not been able to bring himself to go through with it. He’d later told her, and she’d forgiven him. He didn’t know how, but she had.

“I won’t let it happen,” Haern insisted.

Tarlak shook his head.

“Then perhaps instead of helping Lord Victor, we should get him out of Veldaren as fast as possible?” said the wizard.

“Even if he has a chance to succeed?”

Tarlak threw up his hands in surrender. “If that’s your idea of intelligence, then so be it. No matter what we do, we risk this blowing up in our faces, so might as well go for broke.”

A knocking turned their attention to the door.

“Who is it now?” Haern asked.

Tarlak shook his head, for scrying spells embedded in the tower let him see the visitor. “Day just keeps getting better,” he said. With a snap of his fingers, the door opened on its own, and in stepped Zusa, clad in her dark wrappings, her gray cloak fluttering behind her.

“Magic is a poor host to greet at a door,” she said, sheathing her daggers.

“Yes, but it keeps my lazy rear in a chair,” Tarlak said. “Come in, and share whatever terrible news you’ve brought with you. Gods know you’re never here to tell us something good.”

Delysia scolded her brother for his poor hospitality, and hurried up to greet Zusa. The faceless woman accepted her embrace, then set aside her daggers. A wave of Tarlak’s hand, and a glass of wine appeared on the nearby table. Haern watched Zusa settle in, taking a seat opposite Tarlak. Ever since their trip together south to Angelport, the faceless woman had come to Haern and the rest of the Eschaton anytime Alyssa needed things handled in a way that could not be traced back to the Gemcroft family. Her visits were rare, and always odd. Though she tried to appear gracious, Haern could tell she was in a hurry, and that whatever brought her to their tower was urgent.

“Thank you,” Zusa said, sipping the wine before putting it aside. She looked awkward in the old wooden chair dressed in those strange wrappings of hers, but it seemed to bother her not at all. “But my time is short. One of our servant boys was attacked this morning, just before dawn. His eyes were cut out and replaced with silver coins, and two pieces of gold were put on his tongue.”

The news struck Haern like a brick to the head. “A rhyme,” he said. “Was there also a rhyme?”

To his dread, Zusa nodded. “ ‘Tongue of gold,’ ” she recited, “ ‘eyes of silver. Run, run little Alyssa, from the Widow’s quiver.’ ”

With each word, Haern felt his fingers tighten against the fabric of the couch. After the first two murders, he’d thought it was just someone with an agenda against the Spider Guild, but to also strike the Gemcroft family, especially in such a petty, cruel way?

“Do you know of this… Widow?” Zusa asked.

Haern sighed, and he caught Tarlak staring at him, clearly also eager to hear. Nodding, Haern shared what he’d discovered, about the two bodies, and about Victor’s also requesting help in discovering who it was. When he was finished, Tarlak leaned back in his chair, stroking his red goatee.

“He’s taking their eyes?” he wondered aloud. “That’s a little… odd.”

“Odd?” said Zusa. “You insult a dead child saying such a thing. It is the cold, cruel act of a sick mind. Whoever this Widow is, let him kill Spiders night and day, but to threaten Alyssa’s son… no. We must stop him. Despite your reputation otherwise, your Eschaton Mercenaries are the best. My mistress wants this killer found, and will pay you whatever it takes to enlist your services.”

Tarlak’s eyes widened. “Now that’s what I like to hear,” he said, grinning.

“He’s striking at night,” Haern said, glaring at Tarlak. “And he bears a grudge against both the Spider Guild and the Gemcroft family. Any ideas?”

“Perhaps a rival guild?” Tarlak asked.

Haern shrugged. “Maybe a rogue thief wanting the truce ended?”

Neither idea sounded right, didn’t have that correct feel in the gut. And then Delysia spoke.

“What about Victor?” she asked.

Haern and Tarlak exchanged a glance.

“He’s made his hatred of the thief guilds clear,” Delysia insisted.

“He has no love of the Trifect, either,” Zusa said, and she told them of Victor’s visit to Alyssa’s mansion just that morning.

“No,” Haern said. It made sense, but still he shook his head. “I don’t believe it. He’s doing this with a sense of purpose, a sense of honor. Brutal murders, mocking rhymes… how does that help him? What agenda does that serve?”

Tarlak frowned, and he bit his lower lip as he thought.

“Zusa,” he said, glancing at the woman. “Tell Alyssa we accept her request, and I’ll have a contract brought to you before tonight. We’ll start patrolling the Spider Guild territory come nightfall, see if we can spot him attempting kill number four. All of us except Haern, that is.”

“You want me to watch Victor,” Haern said. “Don’t you?”

“Consider it protecting him,” Tarlak said, standing. “That is, if he’s innocent. And if he’s not, well…” The wizard shrugged. “You’ll be right there to stop him, won’t you?”

Haern thought of the way Victor had responded to seeing the body in the alley. His anger, his revulsion… that couldn’t have been an act. Could it? The timing would have been difficult, but he didn’t have to be the one committing the killings himself.

“It’s not him,” Haern said, reaching for his sabers.

“I hope it isn’t,” Zusa said as she went to the door. “Because his scribe sits in our mansion, recording our every deed. Find him quickly, Eschaton. Our city is dangerous enough without a madman.”

Silence greeted them as the door closed behind her. Haern stood there, feeling unsure, then buckled his sabers to his belt.

“Where are you going?” Delysia asked.

“To speak with a contact,” Haern said. “If the Spider Guild is being targeted, someone in their organization might have an idea why.”

“Be careful,” she told him.

He leaned in close to gently kiss her cheek.

“I will,” he said. “I promise.”

“You sure it’s safe to be out here?” Peb asked as they neared the castle. His wide eyes darted every which way, as if guards were trying to sneak from all directions. With his big ears, the act reminded Alan why Peb had once been called Mouse.

“I’m not sure it’s safe to be anywhere in Veldaren right now,” Alan said, twirling a copper coin between his thumb and forefinger, something he did when nervous. “So why should the castle be any worse?”