David Dalglish - A Dance of Shadows

“Where is Thren?” Victor screamed into his face. His dagger pressed harder against flesh, threatening to pierce it at any moment. “Where is he really?”

“I told you where he is,” Alan insisted.

Victor stared into his eyes, daring him to lie, to give the slightest twitch revealing his guilt.

“One last time,” Victor said, his voice dropping. “Where… is… Thren?”

Alan met his gaze, and he leaned closer so that the dagger drew a drop of blood.

“Threaten all you want,” he said. “My words aren’t changing. He’s there.”

Victor let him go, then shouted another order to his guards.

“Get him out of here,” he said.

Alan was all too eager to oblige. With him gone, Victor tossed the dagger atop his dresser and then rubbed his eyes. Truth or lie… truth or lie?

“Form an escort,” he said at last, exiting his room and kissing good-bye his morning of rest. “I need to speak with Antonil immediately.”

Victor met Antonil in the castle courtyard, the guard captain looking as tired as Victor felt. All around them rushed servants, soldiers, and merchants, all trying to assess the damage from the previous night’s carnage and do their best to recover. Already a line stretched from one of the doors of the castle, those seeking an audience with the king.

“Good to see you escaped last night unscathed,” Antonil said. His clothes were clean but unkempt, as if he’d dressed in a hurry. No doubt he had been trying to sleep when he’d heard of Victor’s request. As much as Victor tried to feel bad for him, he knew they had a job to do, and each of them understood the requirements of such dedication to his position.

“A shame the rest of the city cannot say the same,” Victor said, clasping Antonil’s hand in greeting. “Please, forgive me for interrupting your morning, but I must act soon, and I need the help of your guard.”

A note of caution entered Antonil’s words.

“Act on what?”

“I know where Thren is,” Victor said. “Him, and most likely the rest of his guild.”

Antonil turned away and swore.

“You realize what this will do,” he said.

“I know.”

“This isn’t some minor thief or merchant. Thren has killed kings before.”

“And yet still he lives,” Victor said, crossing his arms.

Antonil frowned, but could not argue that point. Pacing a few steps in either direction, he mulled over the thought.

“What exactly do you want?” he asked at last.

“This is something in which we cannot fail, and therefore every precaution we can take, we take. Between your city guard and my soldiers, we can seal off a dozen streets, and surround his hideout with a wall of swords and spears. Last night was the end of whatever peace Veldaren has known. Thren will not let this pass.”

“How do you know that? I heard nothing of Thren last night, nor did anyone report his actions to my guard.”

Victor shook his head, hardly believing what he was hearing.

“The man is a thief, a criminal, and a madman who has terrorized this city for years. Every shred of history says he will take this opportunity to make things worse, and you want to argue about how in a single night no one happened to see him? What are you afraid of?”

“What am I afraid of?” Antonil stopped his pacing and stepped close. “You weren’t here during that long decade. At times I could barely patrol the streets because we were too busy pulling corpses out of homes and gutters. I had to put men at every single window of the castle, for Edwin was convinced he’d have his throat slit in the night. No matter what the crime, I could not get men to talk to me, nor my guard to investigate thoroughly, for doing so would just result in more dead. Every night it took a little piece of me to convince this city that just maybe they could sleep well. And now I see the same chaos erupting before me, and you call me a coward for fearing you’ll fan the flames instead of smothering them?”

Victor endured his rant, and as memories flashed before his eyes, he breathed in deeply to stop his fists from shaking.

“I saw far more than you think,” he told the guard captain. “I know what Veldaren was like. But you misunderstand me. I am doing this regardless of what you say. All I ask for is your help. If I must, I will bear the burden on my shoulders alone.”

“Damn it, man,” Antonil said. “My men are exhausted. Was there not enough death last night?”

This time it was Victor who could not control his anger.

“Not enough?” he asked. “No, there wasn’t enough. Murderers and thieves still live. They still hold the heart of this city in their hands, and even brave men quiver at the thought of what they might do. No, the dying must go on, the blood must continue to flow, until the guilty are the ones filling the graveyards, not the innocent. Now will you help me or not?”

Antonil swore again, clearly unhappy. Victor waited him out, let him fume and think. At last the guard captain met his gaze.

“It’s all on you,” he said at last. “If this burns us, I’ll have Edwin banish you faster than you can blink. Have I made myself clear?”

“Clear as day,” Victor said. “Though it saddens me how quickly you forget that I and my men were out there last night alongside yours.”

“Since your arrival, this city has gone to the Abyss,” Antonil said, shaking his head. “Forgive me for not being so sure you’re more help than burden.”

Victor swallowed down his frustration and pride. Time would be his judge, not a mere soldier, regardless of his rank.

“Keep your faith in me,” he said, once more offering his hand to Antonil. “Our freedom is coming. Trust me.”

Letting out a sigh, Antonil clasped his wrist, then stepped back.

“So,” he said. “Where is that bastard hiding, anyway?”

Thren leaned back in his seat, feet up on the table. He drank alone. Martin had come over to talk, but he’d waved him away. The rest of his guild had gone to various rooms of the inn to lick their wounds, rest their eyes, and sleep with their whores. He didn’t blame them. Not that he’d ever find himself a whore. To have his desires overcome him so fully that he’d pay to have them satisfied? No, he had better discipline than that. Besides, Marion was fresh in his mind, and it would be an insult to her memory to bed another woman now.

“Do you miss me, Marion?” he asked the reflection in his glass. “Or do you watch me even now? How many tears have you shed?”

She’d been a stunning woman, her beauty almost exotic. While Grayson’s parents had both borne the dark skin common to those in Ker, Marion’s father had been a soldier from Neldar instead. She’d inherited his brown hair, and the color of her skin had softened so that no matter where she went she stood out, his beautiful angel with sapphire eyes. She’d been no stranger to the life of a thief, and behind her well-crafted act of tenderness and humility, there’d been a will of iron. Of all the women he’d met, she’d been the only one he fully respected. The one time he’d struck her, she’d slapped him right back.

“Never told you,” he muttered. “I wasn’t mad, not then. I just wanted to know how you’d react. By the gods, you were fire in a dress.”

He’d had too much to drink, he knew. What had started as a celebration had settled into quiet reminiscence as the guild turned in one by one. Much as Thren didn’t want to admit it, Grayson’s comment had cut deep, but of course the man had known it would. Even though it’d been many years since their parting, few knew him better than his old friend.

Former friend , Thren thought, correcting himself. Things had changed since Marion’s death. Even then he’d known Grayson would never forgive him. More than a decade later, he now had his proof. His wife was dead, and his sons were lost to him. What remained of her in this world was in Thren’s and Grayson’s memories. Staring into his glass, he felt his stomach twist. Had Grayson told the truth about the Watcher? Was he really dead? If he was, that was just one more piece of Marion gone from the world, forever denied to him.