David Dalglish - A Dance of Shadows

“Still a big city,” Brug grumbled.

Tarlak shot his friend a look. “You sound disappointed.”

Brug shrugged. “Was hoping to gut a bunch of thieves. Only seems fair, given what they did to Haern. Instead they’d rather set fires, burn down some stalls, and then run like cowards. Pathetic.”

“Their kind tends to not be known for their bravery.”

They followed the road, listening for sounds of combat and keeping their eyes open for signs of fire. Much as he might mock Brug for it, Tarlak understood how he felt. They’d expected far more chaos, a true call to arms in celebration of the Watcher’s death. The night was half over, and all they’d seen had been little worse than the food riots they’d had in years prior.

“Maybe all the patrols are actually working,” Tarlak said.

“Haven’t seen anything by the Spider Guild,” Brug said.

“Ash Guild tore them up pretty bad. They might be sitting this one out.”

Brug laughed. “Yeah. I believe that.”

Tarlak shrugged. “Can always hope, right?”

A deep explosion roared from near the castle, hard enough to shake the ground they stood upon. Brug tapped his daggers together.

“Nope.”

They hurried north, passing wrecked stalls, broken windows, and dark alleys that all seemed filled with men and women lurking within the shadows. Tarlak couldn’t help but feel like they were waiting for something, just stalling for the true celebration. If anything, perhaps they were wondering if the Watcher would appear and prove the rumors untrue. Every spreading fire, every theft unpunished, only confirmed his absence.

But then again, that explosion had been really loud…

They rushed faster, and Tarlak saw smoke billowing near the castle.

“Makes no sense,” he muttered. “Why attack the castle?”

“Not the castle,” Brug said, and that’s when Tarlak realized what they’d done. Stepping out to the wide space before the castle, where Victor had held his interrogations, he found the area filled with rubble and dirt. Several guards lay about, all dead. The west side of the city’s prison had been blown open, and Tarlak recognized a magical explosion when he saw one.

What could be more symbolic than freeing all captive members of the guilds from a prison?

Too much time had passed between the explosion and their arrival. Whatever combat had taken place was long over. Men in tattered clothes flooded out, a few armed and dressed in the colors of the Hawk Guild amid their ranks, revealing the guild responsible.

“With the guard scattered across the city, too few must have been here to stop them,” Brug said, clearly nervous at seeing so many.

Tarlak nodded in agreement. He lifted his hands, let fire surround them.

“Stop as many as possible,” he said.

“Will do.”

Brug charged ahead, trusting his plate mail to keep him safe. The prisoners and Hawks were fleeing west, away from Brug’s and Tarlak’s road. Knowing he needed to slow them to have a chance, Tarlak hurled a ball of fire over their heads, detonating it in the road beyond. It set fire to the street, as well as a nearby home. Tarlak winced, but figured one more blaze wouldn’t hurt the city too badly. He hoped. Their route cut off, the prisoners veered in various directions, many having to turn about and retrace their steps to find another road. Tarlak clapped his hands, and a bolt of lightning struck in their center, killing two. More important was the confusion the light and sound made, giving Brug his chance to reach them.

He barreled through their numbers, head low, helmet leading. He punched and kicked with wild abandon. Tarlak knew his friend was not the best of fighters, but what he lacked in skill he made up in eagerness and stupidity. He didn’t try to block attacks, nor avoid blows, just let them hit his armor and slide off. Blood soon covered his punch daggers. The escaped prisoners fled, but the Hawks among them converged, daggers and short swords ready.

“Keep ’em busy,” Tarlak shouted, hurling bolts of ice from his palms. They slammed into the thinning crowd, bowling over men and women and then freezing them to the ground. A glance behind showed a squad of soldiers rushing their way. Tarlak grinned, glad for the help. Brug wouldn’t last much longer. With a few well-placed spells, he flung small stones at blinding speeds, striking the Hawks who surrounded him and knocking them unconscious or dead.

Then the soldiers were rushing past, the symbol on their tunics that of the Kane family. It seemed they were smart enough to realize who was friend and who was foe. Ignoring him and Brug, they spread out to chase down the thieves. Tarlak ended his casting, watched as the soldiers pulled two thieves off Brug, who, apart from a multitude of bruises, was no worse for wear.

One of the men gathered a group of five and then passed by, abandoning the chase, and Tarlak recognized his face well.

“Victor?” he asked.

Victor turned, hand on his sword until he realized who it was.

“The people here are in your debt,” Victor said, saluting quickly before hurrying on.

“Wait,” Tarlak said, falling in step. “What’s going on? You need to help us find the escaped…”

“Alyssa Gemcroft’s mansion is on fire,” Victor said over his shoulder.

“What?”

“Riot broke out, completely surrounded their estate. I went for the castle first, for the king and his guard are of more importance. Time is not on our side, wizard, and unless you have a spell to turn it backward, this night will not end well. It’s the thief war all over again. Gods damn it, I should have returned years earlier.”

Tarlak glanced back, saw Brug hurrying to catch up. Sighing, the wizard began casting a spell.

“If you want to get there now, then come with me,” he said as a portal ripped open before him. Without waiting for their answer, he stepped through, to see the chaos that had overtaken the Gemcroft mansion.

Zusa watched from the window of their second-story room as the crowd gathered about their gates. Alyssa stood beside her, a cold expression on her face.

“Do they blame me for this?” she asked. “Have they not forgiven me for the chaos my mercenaries caused?”

“People have long memories when they are suffering,” Zusa said, scanning the crowd. She could not hear their individual cries, but she spotted those who were the most vehement and shouting the loudest. A few wore guild colors, all the same.

“The Spider Guild is behind this,” she said. “Thren is turning their fear to his own ends.”

“It doesn’t matter who is behind it,” Melody said. She stood at the other set of windows in the room, Nathaniel at her side. “They won’t harm us, no matter what. I know it.”

“My guards will be enough,” Alyssa said, and Zusa caught the way her eyes narrowed when she saw how Melody tightly clutched Nathaniel’s hand in hers. “They once tried to burn my home to the ground. They failed, and they will fail again.”

“Of course they will,” Zusa said, kissing Alyssa’s cheek. “You have me.”

She pushed open the window and leaped through it, the cold wind blowing across her hair. Landing with a roll, she sprinted until she reached a tall oak tree. Climbing its limbs with ease, she neared the top and, hidden among the leaves, scanned the crowd anew, taking in numbers and weaponry. They were in the hundreds, far outnumbering Alyssa’s house guards. They were poorly geared, though, very few wielding any sort of weaponry beyond a torch or a knife.

More worrisome, though, was how she saw more than just the Spider Guild’s cloaks among them, lurking at the outer edges of the crowd. Hawks, Wolves, Serpents… it seemed every guild but the Ash had come to play. Many more foes might be hidden in the nearby homes and alleys, and could strike from any angle. So far the gate held, despite the throng that pressed against it. Torches could do little to the stone fence surrounding the estate. So long as they did not bring out ladders and rope, or find a way to…