David Dalglish - A Dance of Shadows

They all forgot John Gandrem, all but Zusa, who forced the heavyset faceless into a retreat his way. His sword pierced her back, punched out the other side. The woman convulsed on the blade, then dropped to the ground. The other two froze, and as if to mock them, Zusa knelt and tore the wrappings from the dead woman’s face, revealing her round cheeks, her dimpled face draining of color, her green eyes locked open in death.

“Look at her!” Zusa screamed. “ Look at her! Tell me why such a face must be hidden! Tell me why such a beauty must die! Is Karak so petty as to hate us all? Do you think the priests tell you his true word? You are fools, you are chained, now leave my family alone !”

Ezra and the tall faceless glared at her, and she wondered if they would attack. She wanted them emotional, wanted them to rush into battle unprepared against her so she could finish them forever. But instead they ran, and she could not tell if it was cowardice or wisdom that made them do so.

Zusa let them go, for she felt her strength ebbing and a headache growing deep in her forehead. With their absence, Zusa’s cloak returned to its dull gray color, and she limped over to Alyssa. A dozen shallow cuts bled across her body.

“You’re safe,” Zusa said, and she smiled. Alyssa caught her when she leaned forward, and Zusa accepted the embrace.

The sound of combat continued unabated despite the emptiness of the room. Looking out the window, Zusa saw the house guards completely overwhelmed, only a small force holding fast at the crowded entryway before the mansion door. The rest were dead or had retreated all the way into the building. Windows were smashed in from all directions, and nothing could be done to stop the rioters from pouring in, looters rushing out with treasures in hand.

“The castle guard will arrive soon,” John said, wiping blood from his sword. “Surely they will not allow…”

“The city is like it is because the city guard has allowed it,” Melody said, stepping away so she too could watch from the window. “We will find no salvation from them.”

Zusa pulled free of Alyssa’s embrace, kissed her forehead. “Shut and bar the door,” she said to John. Without waiting for a response, she leaped once more from the window. The many below were just unarmed men, angry, confused, whipped into a fury by the thief guilds. Despite this, she had no pity for them as she descended, a whirling tornado of blades. They trespassed upon land not theirs, seeking to take what had never belonged to them and snuff out the life of those she loved. Let them die. Let them bleed out upon the grass. And that is what they did, those who did not scatter in time. Life after life she ended, losing herself in the flow of combat.

They fled from her, unable to overwhelm her with numbers and unable to defeat her with their simple weaponry. Zusa cut a bloody swath toward the guards at the door, who, despite their many wounds, held firm.

“Go inside!” she screamed at them. “Protect those within. I will hold the door!”

None looked happy with the command, but they knew her closeness to Alyssa, and the danger her daggers possessed. When they retreated inside, only Zusa remained in the yard. Turning about, she stared down the rioters. Many had begun to flee, overwhelmed by the carnage strewn about the place. The house guards had done their work well. Men and women still rushed the mansion, but most avoided her, choosing to crawl through the glass of broken windows rather than challenge her blades. Zusa shook her head, almost disappointed, but at least the mansion would be safe. The remaining house guards could handle a few looters and…

“This city is in the throes of a new birth!” boomed a deep voice outside the complex. Zusa looked, saw a large man dressed in clothes outside the norms of Veldaren, a triangular hat on his head. His left ear glittered with many rings running up and down the cartilage. “That there is blood and pain should not only be expected, but welcome! Our slavery ends tonight. The Watcher is dead, and the disgusting truce of this land breaks. Destroy those who once pretended to be your lords.”

As he spoke, men of all guilds gathered around him, having hidden in alleys and homes to watch the carnage while the hungry, frustrated, and destitute did their work for them. They were at least two hundred, perhaps more, and they brandished crossbows and daggers laced with poison. Zusa stood before them, her whole body trembling with every tired breath. Whoever the strange man was, Zusa marked him, let his face burn into her memory.

“Those who pass through those gates will die,” Zusa cried back, pointing a dagger. Her voice seemed minuscule compared to that of the giant who led them. “Come, then, if you are so eager to enter the Abyss.”

With so many against her, and the city guard nowhere in sight, they were not afraid. They rushed in, all but their leader, who remained back to watch. Zusa flung open the door and pressed her back against it, using it as a shield as the crossbow bolts came flying. They thudded like a heavy rain. Zusa closed her eyes, felt tears in them. Damn it, not like this. What they’d do to Alyssa, to Nathaniel…

When the footsteps were almost near, she kicked the door back open and charged, willing to bleed, to die, to keep them safe for just a minute more. But to her surprise, she was not alone. Landing before the door, his body shrouded in gray cloaks, was a man who should not have been able to leave his bed, let alone tear into the forces assembled against them.

“Haern?” Zusa asked in the brief pause before she rushed to join him. They were terribly outnumbered, but they moved through the ranks with blinding speed, taking advantage of the sudden doubt and terror the Watcher’s presence inspired. He should have been dead. This was their night to celebrate his execution. To have him appear, sabers hungry, suddenly put every plan of theirs in doubt.

After about thirty died, their progress slowed. Shock turned to fury and desperation, and now it was Zusa’s turn to retreat, weaving from side to side to avoid the occasional crossbow bolt. Instead of putting their backs to the door, she and the Watcher fled inside. Together they slammed it shut, needing the brief reprieve to catch their breath. Zusa looked to the Watcher, still unable to believe it. He looked similar, had a similar build and height, but something was wrong. Much of his face was hidden in the shadows of his hood, and even his grin had that same amused yet tired edge to it. His hands, she realized. They were older, more callused and scarred.

“Who are you?” she asked. “You can’t be him.”

“I am who I need to be,” said the imposter. He kept his voice low, but it was rougher than Haern’s whisper. “Or would you prefer to fight them alone?”

The barred door halted them only a moment. The remaining house guards had retreated farther into the house, most likely to the upper floors where they could narrow down the conflict to a few choke points at the stairs. This left the windows unguarded, and the thieves leaped through them in a sudden wave. Zusa took one side, the Watcher the other. She parried a clumsy thrust, kicked her shin against the man’s groin, and then slashed out his throat as he doubled over. Two more neared, and she flung herself at them, her exhaustion increasing her recklessness. Both scored minor wounds, but she accepted them to cut both down, each of her daggers burying into a throat.

An explosion roared from the outside, and suddenly there were no more coming through the windows.

“What’s going on?” Zusa asked, turning. The Watcher stood at a window, grinning.

“Not everyone is so willing to play along with Grayson’s farce,” he said.

Not understanding, she opened the door to look out.