David Dalglish - A Dance of Shadows

Meeting Deathmask’s eye, he opened his mouth to answer, and that’s when the wall to his left exploded. Rock and dust filled the cellar. The four members of the Ash Guild fell back to the far wall, drawing daggers and readying magic.

“I must say, Death, I’m rather disappointed in you,” said Tarlak as he walked through the rubble and into the cellar. “Not a single protection spell against scrying?”

“I cast one on Victor the moment I took him,” Deathmask said as purple fire danced about his fingers.

“Not on Victor,” Tarlak said, grinning. “On you . But the night’s late, and such a mistake can be forgiven for how tired I’m sure you are. I’ll take your guest off your hands so you can rest. He’s such a troublemaker, isn’t he?”

More arrived through the hole in the wall, some Victor recognized, some he didn’t. The Watcher was the first, his sabers drawn, his face hidden in shadow. With him was a priestess of Ashhur, the wizard’s sister, Delysia. He’d met her briefly, when he first came to ask Tarlak to cast wards about his home. Last was a short, stocky man with a beard, clunking down behind the others in a full suit of plate mail. The four faced off against the Ash Guild, who almost looked eager for a fight-all but Deathmask, who just looked amused.

“Such a dramatic display,” Deathmask said. “But truly unnecessary. Did I not tell your pet assassin he would be safe with me?”

The Watcher slipped closer, and with a few quick swings of his sabers cut Victor free from the chair. His back stung when he stood, but Victor was thrilled to be able to move. Glancing to the Ash Guild, he dipped his head low.

“Thank you for the hospitality,” he said.

“Anytime,” Deathmask said, still looking more amused than upset that the Eschaton had come to save him.

“Come see us again,” said the twins in unison.

Victor stepped through the blasted hole in the wall and earth, climbing up to the surface. The priestess took his arm, asked him if he was injured. Shaking his head, Victor glanced back, saw the Watcher remaining behind. The assassin said something to Deathmask, then followed.

“Take me to my men,” Victor said to Tarlak. “I must let them know I am safe and well.”

“We’ll do that for you,” Tarlak said. “But for now, you’re coming with us. Your home isn’t safe.”

“I know. Your spell left a gaping hole in the wall.”

Tarlak glanced back at the cellar.

“Indeed. Seems to be my specialty tonight.”

“Damn fools,” said the shorter fellow in armor. “What were they trying to do?”

“They were saving my life,” Victor said, remembering his flight down the street, thieves in pursuit.

“Doubt that,” the man snorted.

“Quiet, Brug,” Tarlak said. He stopped them all there in the middle of the street. Victor didn’t know why, but the wizard was twirling his hands about in odd motions.

“Deathmask doesn’t have an altruistic bone in his body,” the Watcher said, joining them. “If he’s interested in you, enough to keep you alive, it’s probably far worse than if he’d never noticed you at all.”

“Thanks for the comforting words,” Victor muttered. “My home was attacked, at least fifteen of my men are dead, and a madman has plans for me he’s unwilling to share.”

“Don’t forget Thren Felhorn wants you dead,” Brug said. “That should be up there too.”

Victor glared at Brug, who seemed not to care.

“Done,” Tarlak said, and with the word, the air split before him like a torn painting, revealing a swirling blue beneath. Victor stepped back, stunned. The tear grew, swirling with an unnatural light, until it was the size of a man. Without hesitation Tarlak stepped through, vanishing instead of appearing on the other side. His sister followed, then Brug. Before Victor could step through, the Watcher grabbed his wrist and held him still.

“We risk our lives by helping you,” he said. “Do you understand that?”

Victor nodded. “I do.”

“Good. Never forget it.”

He shoved Victor into the portal. Victor’s vision was flooded with stars, gravity twirled and reversed, and then he was landing on cold, hard earth. His stomach heaved, and he vomited uncontrollably. As he gasped for air, he looked up to see a large tower where rolling green hills met an expansive forest. Tarlak stood before him, hand outstretched, a grin on his face.

“Welcome back to the Eschaton Tower,” the wizard said. “Now that I’ve saved your life at least twice by my count, I think it’s time we re-discuss my fee…”

Antonil Copernus surveyed what was left of the bodies and shook his head.

“What’s that put the death total at?” he asked Sergan, his most trusted friend. The man was a ruffian in soldier’s armor, big features, dirty hair, and an even bigger ax across his back. He was a good man, though, disciplined, and always willing to tell Antonil the truth no matter how little he wanted to hear it.

“Not the best at numbers,” Sergan said, turning to spit. “Think we’re getting beyond what I can count. About fifteen or so of Victor’s men dead in and about his home. Twenty gray cloaks in there with them. Three or four on the way to here, and now this…”

Sergan gestured to the crater in the street, the corpses scattered about, some killed by fire, some maimed by heavy blows. They lay stinking amid the worn stone rubble, starting to rot beneath the rising sun.

“How many more died when that-whatever it is-happened? Fifteen? Eighteen?”

“Lord Victor was a fool to think they’d let him go unpunished,” Antonil said. “Which of these bodies do you think is him?”

Sergan squinted at a few nearby, frowned. “Not seeing any wearing fancy-enough clothes. Might still be alive and cowering under a rock somewhere, though I doubt it’ll mean shit. His fool’s quest is over. Once he’s done wiping his ass, he’ll take the first wagon out of Veldaren, I guarantee it. Question is, what do we do? Pretty obvious the Spider Guild is the one responsible for all this. Think we could have the king declare them all under arrest?”

“Perhaps, if we wanted to send them all into hiding and make all our lives miserable for the next ten years.” Antonil knelt before one of the bodies, picked up a torn scrap of gray cloth, rubbed the coarse material between his fingers. “Who killed the Spider Guild, though? Don’t see any of Victor’s guards having made it this far.”

“I don’t know, but whoever it was was doing us a service.”

Antonil let out a grim laugh.

“Don’t let Thren hear you say that. I’d hate to have to find myself a new trainer for the guard.”

More city guards arrived from the castle, wheeling a cart behind them. At Sergan’s orders they began loading up the dead and shifting aside the larger stones to reopen the road for travel. They’d be at it for hours, all to clean up the mess the attack had caused. The sun was rising above the city wall, reminding Antonil how tired he was, and how long a day he had ahead of him.

Antonil watched his soldiers work with a pall cast over his mood. He’d known this was coming. It seemed everyone in Veldaren but Victor had known. But expecting it and actually seeing the anger and power of the underworld rising up to strike were two different things. And lest they risk all-out warfare on the streets, Antonil could do nothing about it. It used to be that the easy money made the guilds soft, but that seemed no longer to be the case. The Watcher had been the one to keep the more troublesome in line, but this was beyond him. Perhaps it was beyond them all.

“Something bothering you, beyond the obvious?” Sergan asked, coming back from the crater.