David Dalglish - A Dance of Shadows

“Forgive me,” he said. “I only fear for the people I must protect.”

“I understand,” Tarlak said. “Whatever peace of mind this gives you, just know we’ll be out there tonight, doing what we can. Just endure, and mitigate this. When Haern’s fine and well, he’ll come storming into the underworld like a demonspawn of the Abyss, making every one of them cowardly buggers regret celebrating the Watcher’s death .”

Antonil nodded, giving the wizard a half-smile.

“You’re a good man, Tarlak,” he said. “I’ll do what I can to make sure the king’s treasury pays you well.”

“Thought never crossed my mind,” Tarlak said, giving him a wink. “Good luck, and pray to Ashhur we escape this madness unscathed.”

Antonil bowed low, then stepped out. As the door shut behind him, he saw a strange woman sitting cross-legged just off the path. Her dress was plain, simple, but it looked poorly fitted, as if never worn by her before. She had olive skin and hair cut short. Two daggers twirled in her hands.

“Does he live?” she asked him.

Antonil’s hand drifted to the hilt of his sword.

“Who?” he asked.

The woman stared at him, her head tilted to one side.

“Haern,” she said at last. “I’m a friend.”

Knowing his name had to mean something, Antonil decided, though he kept his hand on the hilt all the same.

“He’s alive but hurt,” he said. “I don’t know how long until he recovers.”

The woman nodded, stood. Her daggers slipped into her sash.

“I will try to quell the rumors,” she said. “But it will not matter. They want to believe he’s dead, even if for only a night. Blood will spill when the sun sets, Guard Captain. Do what you must to make it of the guilty, and not the innocent.”

Lazily she stood and began walking toward the city. Antonil waited, not wanting to be near her as he traveled. Something about her wasn’t quite right…

Shaking his head, he banished the thoughts and headed down the path, seeing no sign of her. Upon reaching the gates of Veldaren, he saluted the guards and denied their offer of an escort. Antonil was not yet ready to return to the castle. Instead he hurried to Victor’s tavern, where he was allowed entrance with hardly a glance. Inside, Victor sat at a table, a map of Veldaren unrolled before him. Sef sat beside him, pointing at various districts and muttering. Upon Antonil’s entrance they both stood.

“Forgive my intrusion,” Antonil said. “I’m sure you’ve heard the talk of the day.”

“We have,” said Victor.

“I hate to do this, but my guards will not be enough. I don’t know what coin I can guarantee, but…”

“Save your words,” Victor said, sitting back down at the table. “My men will be out there, and I with them. We’ll do everything we can to save this city. You won’t be doing this alone.”

“Thank you,” Antonil said, feeling a brief glimmer of hope. Between the Eschaton, the city guard, and now Victor’s men, they just might endure. “I am relieved to hear it.”

“You shouldn’t have doubted in the first place,” Victor said. “Even if you never asked, I’d still be out there. I’m here for you, Antonil. For all of the city. By my life or death, we will see brighter days.”

Antonil bowed low, convinced of the man’s sincerity and honored by it.

“The Watcher is alive,” he said before leaving. “We only need to buy him time.”

“That’s good news to hear,” Victor said. “I feared his death would one day tear down everything, but I thought it many years in the distance. Shame on him for giving us such a scare. I’ll have harsh words for him the next time we meet. I daresay I might even yell and call him selfish for nearly dying on us so early.”

The lord grinned, and Antonil grinned back.

“Protect the peace,” he said.

“You as well.”

Antonil left, and with everything either prepared or set into motion, he went to the castle to endure his king’s frightened rants and calls to action.

Tarlak adjusted his hat, smoothed out his robes, and made sure his bag of spell components was fully stocked in case he needed some of his trickier spells. He took a deep breath, let it out, and then stepped into Haern’s room. Delysia still sat at the edge of his bed, her red hair a rumpled mess. She saw him, straightened up.

“Are you leaving?” she asked.

“Sun’s almost set. The party should start soon enough.”

His sister nodded. “I’ll get ready,” she said.

Tarlak took another deep breath. This was the conversation he’d been dreading.

“You’re not going,” he said.

Delysia’s eyes narrowed, and he saw her stubborn streak surfacing.

“I am not afraid,” she said. “Nor am I helpless. You need all the help you can get tonight, and you know it. I will not sit idly by while you risk your lives.”

“That’s not it,” Tarlak said, sitting down at the edge of Haern’s bed. He gestured to Haern, who still slept. “You’re needed here. If you get hurt, or captured, then his recovery will only take longer. Not sure how this happened, but right now Haern’s the most important man in the city. We’ve got to get him up and stabbing people with the pointy end of those sabers.”

He pulled off his hat, ran a hand through his hair.

“Besides, Sis, I’m already in over my head. Haern’s the one who knows these people, who their leaders are, what they’ll do. I just plan on roasting anyone who looks at me funny, and praying to Ashhur that I got a bad guy.”

Delysia shifted so she sat beside him, and he wrapped his arm about her.

“I’m tired of this room,” she said, letting out a laugh.

“I know. You don’t look too good, either.”

She elbowed him, and he mussed her hair in return. Their cheer was forced, and it died quickly. Tarlak looked to Haern, and he felt the weight of the night pressing on him.

“I think he’ll wake soon,” he said. “Someone should be here when he does, and I think he’ll be happy that it’s you. Let him know what’s happening. He’ll try to be stupid and leave the tower before he’s ready, so don’t let him sway you with his masculine charms.”

Delysia kissed his cheek.

“I’ll be praying for you,” she said.

“Thanks. I’ll need the help. And don’t you worry. Me and Brug’ll be back by dawn.”

He waved good-bye, then climbed down the stairs to where Brug waited. The man was trying to adjust his plate mail, and grumbling all the while. Every movement he made rattled and creaked.

“Be hard to sneak up on them with you making a ruckus,” Tarlak said, earning himself a glare.

“You see this armor?” Brug asked. “It’s perfect. Made it myself. No dagger’s slipping between these creases. Rather be last to the fight and live, than first and dead.”

“With how much all that weighs, there won’t be a fight left by the time you arrive anywhere.”

Brug shrugged. “I’ll still be alive. What’s the problem?”

Tarlak chuckled. Couldn’t argue with that.

“You ready?”

Brug gave his breastplate one more hard twist, then readied his punch daggers.

“Lead the way, magic pants, or are we taking a portal?”

“We’re walking,” Tarlak said. “I expect a long night ahead of us, and need to conserve every shred of energy.”

Brug grunted. “Del not coming?”

“She’s staying with Haern.”

“So just you and me against the world, eh?” Brug asked, a cocky grin spreading across his face.

Tarlak nodded. “Looks like I’ll have to rely on you to keep them off me. Must say, Brug, I think I miss Haern already.”

Daverik hurried down the dark streets, his heart pounding in his chest. The sun’s descent past the walls of the city was almost complete, and when it was, everything would erupt. The very air was thick with energy, a nervous excitement tinged with fury. For four years the Watcher had ruled over the city. Four years, and all its fear, all its resentment, was about to be released in an orgy of fire, theft, and murder.