David Dalglish - A Dance of Shadows

Haern narrowed his gaze, the tips of his sabers pressed against the wood floor as he took in heavy gasps of air. Before their combat could resume, a thief rushed down the steps. The last of the guards downstairs were dead, and whatever fighting there was had continued higher up.

“Victor’s made it to the street!” the thief cried out, as if oblivious that his guildmaster faced off against the Watcher.

Haern met his father’s gaze, and a half-smile tugged at his lips.

They both sprinted for the door, Haern sliding to one leg just as he reached it. As he predicted, a dagger sailed over his head, thrown by Thren when he realized he could not keep pace. Leaping back to his feet, Haern ran on, desperate not to fail. A quick glance behind showed Thren at his heels, his own gray cloak billowing behind him. Together they rounded the corner, and saw the mess Tarlak’s spell had created.

The entire side wall of the tavern was gone. The wood was blackened and burned along the edges, as if pushed out by a great fire. Rubble lay scattered across the street. Thieves had given chase, and Haern saw at least twenty. Ahead of them all was Lord Victor, a distant silver shape. No escort remained with him. Despite his lead, Haern knew the thieves would catch him, most of them younger and unburdened by armor.

“Just keep going,” Haern breathed as he ran, knowing Thren followed dangerously close. He was faster than them all, knew how to maximize the push of every swing of his legs, but the moment he stopped to fight, Thren would come crashing in. Haern saw little hope, but it didn’t matter. He ran on. Catching up to the tail end of the thieves, he slid close and swung. His saber hamstrung a man, toppling him head over heels while he screamed. Another stopped to strike, but Haern veered aside and continued past.

Too many ahead. The homes on either side flashed by in blurs. Haern’s heels pounded against the hard stone of the street. His pulse thundered in his ears. When they caught Victor, they’d tear him apart, overwhelm him with…

The street exploded before him. Rocks, each the size of a man’s fist, thudded into the homes. In its center swirled a pillar of fire that flared bright before dwindling. Smoke billowed from the crater that now separated Haern from Lord Victor. Over half of the thieves had been caught in the fire, their corpses now lying scattered about, their clothing aflame. The rest staggered aimlessly, bleeding from the ears. And then from the smoke emerged Deathmask. A pale gray mask covered his face, and hovering about his head, hiding his features like a dark cloud, was a swirl of ash. Fire danced from his fingertips.

“Now’s not the time to be a hero,” Deathmask said to them, pointing at the nearest Spider. Fire shot from his finger and bathed the man in flame. His screams did not last long, but were still terrible to hear. At the same time, a woman leaped from the rooftops, two daggers glowing a soft violet in her hands. She landed amid the stunned thieves, making short work of those who tried to defend themselves. Haern recognized her as Veliana, Deathmask’s second-in-command. Not that he had many to command. Only two others were in his guild, twins…

He found them beside Victor in the distance. Haern feared they would hurt him, but from what he could see through the smoke, they only stood at his side, as if protecting him. Shaking his head, Haern turned around, realizing he had forgotten the threat of his father. If Thren had wanted, he could have borne down upon him, but instead he stood far back, the look of anger on his face chilling even to Haern.

“You have no one to blame,” Thren said, meeting Haern’s eye. “Whatever games we’ve played, consider them over.”

He fled into the night, and Haern had no desire to chase after hearing those cryptic words. Sheathing his sabers, he neared the crater, its heat and smoke slowly fading. Deathmask crossed his arms over his chest. From the way his eyes twinkled, Haern had little doubt the dark-haired man was enjoying himself.

“Since when do thieves protect the lords who hunt them?” Haern called out as he approached.

“We have no fear of the hunt,” Deathmask said, removing his mask. With a snap of his fingers, the ash fell to the street, revealing his features. He was a handsome man, his dark hair grown down to his neck, his tanned skin smooth and clean. Most noticeable were his eyes, the left a deep brown, the right colored red. “Besides, you know I enjoy a bit of chaos every now and then.”

Veliana came to his side, her daggers still twirling in her dexterous fingers. Her dark hair was pulled into a ponytail. She might have been beautiful but for the wicked scar that ran from forehead to chin, cutting across her right eye and leaving it a bloody orb.

“You don’t mind if we borrow him for a while, do you?” Veliana asked.

“Victor?” asked Haern. “Why?”

“Just somewhere safe,” Deathmask said, giving Haern a wink. “Don’t try to follow us. Besides, I think you have your own mess to clean up.”

Deathmask nodded to the tavern that Victor had been using as a home. Haern glanced at it, saw the bodies and dwindling fire. When he looked back he realized the twins were gone, and Victor with them. Deathmask’s smile grew.

“Don’t worry, Watcher,” he said. “We won’t keep him long.”

He and Veliana stepped into the crater, and smoke wafted over them. When it cleared they were gone. Haern took a deep breath, let it out. Whatever was going on, it was currently beyond his control. But it seemed the Ash Guild wasn’t ready to see Lord Victor killed. At least not by someone other than themselves.

“Damn it all,” Haern said, shaking his head. He looked to the fire, the bodies, and heard the screams of the injured who had yet to die. Far away a trumpet sounded, the call of the city guard arriving far too late. A rock settled deep in Haern’s gut.

Whatever peace Veldaren had known died that night. Thren’s look had promised war, and in time, decimated guild or not, he would have it. Saying a prayer for the entire city, Haern returned to Victor’s place to wait for the rest of the Eschaton to arrive. Whatever their motivations, the Ash Guild could not be trusted. One way or another, Haern would find them before the night’s end, and Tarlak knew many, many ways…

Zusa waited atop the eastern wall of the city, hidden in the recesses of a watchtower. Whenever a guard lazily wandered by, she clung to the stone ceiling and let him pass underneath without a clue to her presence. Then she’d drop down, return to the edge, and wait. It had been many years, but she knew she would recognize Daverik the moment he arrived. What she’d say to him-that she was far less certain of. Perhaps she’d just kill him. She wanted to. Almost needed to.

The night wore on, but she forced herself to be patient. She had given Daverik no specific location, for she didn’t want his faceless to set up an ambush. If they tried following, she would spot their movements. No matter how good they might be at slinking through shadows, they were young, and Zusa was better.

“Are you a coward now?” Zusa wondered aloud as the night wore on. Daverik had been many things, but at least he had never been one to give in to fear. But it’d been over a decade since they’d lain in each other’s arms. Perhaps she was naïve to think he had changed so little.

Distant thunder turned her eyes west. She saw hints of a fire, and a lot of smoke. Curiosity tugged at her to go, but she refused. No matter what, she would not have Daverik wander by unnoticed, left to return to the temple thinking that she was the coward. Wherever the fire was, she could tell it was nowhere near Alyssa’s mansion, and that was enough to keep her still.