David Dalglish - A Dance of Shadows

“No,” she whispered. “Daverik, no!”

She could not move, too stunned by the betrayal. Four faceless women leaped over the crowd, their gray cloaks billowing behind them. They sailed over the fence with ease, landing among the handful of guards at the gate. Three of the four formed a perimeter, cutting and slashing with their daggers. Shadows bled from their bodies, giving them an unearthly, terrifying image. The fourth slashed the lock with both blades. Black sparks fell to the ground. The women leaped away.

Just like that the gates were open, and the furious crowd poured in like a wave. The house guards closed the gap as quickly as they could, their shields locking together and their swords stabbing, but they would soon be overrun. Zusa knew she must help them, but there was no way she could. The four faceless had rushed the mansion, leaping at various windows and smashing through. She thought of them running through the halls, searching, their daggers eager to take away the life of those she loved.

“Damn it all,” she swore as she leaped from the tree. Arms wide, she sailed across the yard, propelled forward with strength born of magic. Karak’s magic, which she would turn against his blind, foolish servants. Alyssa had closed the window, but Zusa crossed her arms at the last moment and crashed right on through. Glass cut her skin, tore at her wrappings, but she ignored the pain. Rolling to a stop on one knee, she looked to Alyssa, saw the growing fear in her eyes.

“It’s not lost,” Zusa said, rising. “Not yet.”

The door opened, but it was not a faceless, only Lord Gandrem in his polished armor. In his left hand he held a sharpened sword.

“Milady,” he said, tilting his head toward Melody Gemcroft. “Might I have the honor of standing at your side and protecting you with my life?”

“It’s only an honor if you keep her alive,” Zusa said. “By the window, now.”

“Window?”

“Do as she says,” Alyssa said. Zusa was glad to see that Nathaniel was back at her side. John glanced between them, still clearly confused, but he accepted the order of his hostess. He stood before the window Zusa had smashed, his weapon drawn, and overlooked the fight below.

Putting her back to them, Zusa closed the door to the room and leaned her side against it. Closing her eyes, she focused her senses, listened for the slightest sound that might reveal the presence of the faceless. She heard screams from all about the mansion, servants and guards fighting, fleeing, dying. Getting closer.

From the other side, she heard a soft exhalation of air.

Zusa somersaulted as the door was kicked open. She was curling in midair when the faceless woman rushed in, searching. Melody screamed. Nathaniel cried out. Before the woman could attack, Zusa landed between her and Alyssa.

“Stay back!” she screamed at John, who had turned to help. “Stay at the window!”

The faceless lowered her body, tensed for a lunge. Zusa recognized those hazel eyes, that small wiry frame.

There’s Ezra , thought Zusa. Where are the others?

Ezra leaped at Melody, but it was a feint, and she curled back in. Zusa met her charge, having fully expected it. She knew Ezra’s hatred of her, knew that she would attack no one else while in her presence. Their daggers collided, engaged in a dance Zusa knew she would win as she had before. But if the previous defeat weighed on Ezra’s mind, it didn’t show, for she pressed her attack with an unexpected ferocity. Zusa parried twice, tried to knee her foe, but Ezra shifted aside. Zusa continued on, rolling until she hit the wall, then used it to kick off. They met again, their bodies contorted and twisted in ways only they, unarmored and limber, could accomplish. Steel rang against steel. They collided, elbowing, striking, each twisting to absorb the hits of the other as their daggers continued to dance, seeking an opening.

Zusa found it first. Her dagger slashed across Ezra’s thigh. As the injured woman tried to retreat, Zusa somersaulted, foot catching the underside of her chin. Ezra’s head snapped back and she fell, rolling on instinct to avoid any follow-up attacks. When she came to her feet, blood spread across the wrappings of her face. She hesitated, and her eyes flicked once to the window. That was all Zusa needed.

She was halfway there when another faceless came leaping feet first through the shattered window. Lord Gandrem was unprepared for the attack, which caught him full in the chest. He stumbled back, but to his credit he kept swinging, his long blade forcing the new attacker to keep her distance. Zusa didn’t slow her approach in the slightest, and when close enough she leaped, slamming into the other woman with her shoulder. Together they tumbled out the window, falling.

Still holding the other tight, Zusa closed her eyes. They were falling at night, toward a ground littered with a hundred shadows cast by the few torches of the mob. She’d done this before, but never at such a great distance, never with another…

Demanding the power, whether from Karak or herself, she focused on a corner of the room she’d just leaped from, where the shadows were deepest. Shadows were but doorways to her if she was strong enough, and instead of hitting the ground, she and her opponent fell right through. They reappeared in the room, falling from the corner. Zusa twisted so she landed on top, her daggers piercing the faceless woman through the breast and throat. Abandoning the blades so she could continue moving without slowing, she swept the feet out from Ezra, who had turned on John following her departure.

John, surprised as he looked, was still no fool. His sword stabbed down, but Ezra was too fast, spinning on her back. The stab missed, and with impressive strength, she pushed off in a backward somersault. Zusa kneed and kicked her, felt bones break, but still the woman made it past, crumpling at the door to the room.

And at that door appeared two more faceless, shadows rolling off them like water.

Zusa looked to her daggers, still embedded in the corpse.

“You will not win tonight,” she said, shifting so she stood beside John, the two of them protecting Alyssa and her family.

“Karak has decreed you an enemy of the faith,” Ezra said, standing with the help of the other two. Her hazel eyes glared with a feverish intensity. “Your fate is already sealed. Without your faith you are nothing.”

“Strange for a god of order to ally with thieves and rioters,” Alyssa said. “What have I done to earn your ire?”

They received no answer. The three faceless fanned out, forcing the group tighter against the window. Zusa reached out a hand to John, her eyes never leaving her foes. Ezra was the smallest, the other two taller, and with longer reach. One in particular looked almost gangly due to her height, and the way the wrappings pulled tight about her body. The third looked strong, her body heavier than the others’. So far none showed any impatience, instead slowly advancing, watching for any tricks or the first sign of an attack.

“Cut my palm,” Zusa told John, who did so despite clearly not understanding why. As the blood poured across her hand, Zusa clutched her cloak. Her body ached from the blows she and Ezra had exchanged, but despite it she grinned.

“You think I am nothing?” she asked as her gray cloak turned the color of blood, the redness spreading like dye in a glass of water. “You think I must beg Karak for strength? Come, faceless. Come, slaves. I will show you what power I have.”

In unison the three attacked, and Zusa met them head on. Clutching an edge of her cloak, she twisted and spun, weaving through their thrusts and slashes so that none could cut her deeply. Her cloak itself billowed and curled as if it were a sentient thing. Its edges hardened like steel whenever touched by the women’s daggers. Zusa kicked to her left, spun low, then slammed both fists against Ezra’s chest. The others tried to trap her, but she vaulted high, landing by the corpse of the one she’d killed. Yanking free her daggers, she leaped fully into the offensive. Her cloak was just another weapon, and it cut into their skin like razor wire. The faceless retreated, parried and dodged. Their blood covered the floor.