David Dalglish - A Dance of Shadows

Billick got the message, and he nodded fast enough to make the fat of his neck bounce.

“I have business elsewhere,” he said. “Shop’s all yours for the rest of the day. I won’t come back until morning.”

Once the crates were stored, Grayson gathered his men and began handing out smaller bags.

“One silver per pinch,” he told them. “Stay close, and stay together. No one’s sold crimleaf this cheap for decades, so let them come to you. And I’ll drag back to Mordeina in a bag anyone I hear of charging more and pocketing the top.”

The men began to scatter, each eager for his first step in taking over the streets of Veldaren.

“Pierce,” Grayson called out, stopping the man.

“Yeah?”

Grayson grinned at him.

“Go find someone in a different guild, don’t care which, or how old they are. Just find someone, and then gut them. I want to send a message that we aren’t to be messed with, understood? So make it brutal.”

Pierce’s grin was from ear to ear.

“That I can do,” he said, twirling a dagger in his hand.

“Good. Go get to work.”

As the rest scattered in groups, only Boggs and Tracy remained behind.

“Not many places to stash three wagons,” Boggs said, climbing up into the first.

“We aren’t leaving for a while,” Grayson said, glancing up and down the street. “Should be an inn nearby desperate enough for coin to let us hole up all three for a few months. At worst we can sell them at market.”

“Come on, lovely sister,” Boggs said as Tracy climbed up to join him. “Let us find some clean, comfortable beds for our companions.”

Tracy snickered. “So not too much lice in them, then?”

Before they could move out, the back two wheels of the wagon exploded, and with a loud bang the wood hit the ground. The oxen jostled, startled, but Boggs kept them calm.

“The fuck?” Boggs asked, looking back. Tracy hopped down to take a look, but Grayson could already tell what had happened. Smoke rose from a magical fire that burned out into nothing. Grayson drew his swords as a man in a gray cloth mask approached from down the street. Ash swirled about his face, hiding his dark features. Grayson recognized him from the failed attack on Alyssa’s mansion. He gripped his swords tighter.

“Grayson…” Tracy said, also seeing him, but Grayson raised a hand, gesturing for her to remain calm.

“Well, now,” Grayson said, approaching the intruder in a way that positioned him nearer to the first wagon, and therefore cover. “This is a surprise.”

“Perhaps,” said Deathmask. “But your arrival isn’t. I’ve been expecting one of the guilds from Mordeina to arrive for years. Honestly, your delay proved irritating.”

Grayson let out a laugh.

“No more than your interference. What is it you want? If you’re here to protect your territory, you might as well give up now. Our money, leaf, and coin are pouring in from Mordeina like a flood. You won’t stop us.”

“I’ve stopped you twice already,” Deathmask said, crossing his arms. “I stopped you when you sent mobs and thieves after Alyssa Gemcroft’s mansion. Or have you already forgotten the fun my guild had on that night?”

Of course Grayson hadn’t, but he kept his smile going, kept hoping whatever conflict he faced he could resolve without a fight.

“You were an inconvenience, nothing more,” Grayson said. “But I only count one time you’ve stopped us.”

The strange wizard gestured to the broken wagon.

“I consider that number two. But the biggest one that matters is number three… but I don’t mean to stop you. Not unless I must. Your Sun Guild may think it can move into Veldaren easily, but they’ll encounter resistance soon enough, and not just from me. The guilds won’t go down quietly, not unless things change. Not unless you have my help.”

“I can’t decide if you underestimate us, or overestimate your own worth,” Grayson said. “Speak plainly, wizard.”

“I am no wizard,” Deathmask said, and Grayson was surprised to see the anger glowing in those mismatched eyes. “And my offer is plain enough, even for you. Let me help your guild take over the city, every single brick and stone. In return you split your profits with me, and give me a portion of the city to remain under my direct control.”

“Is that so?” Grayson asked, honestly intrigued. “How much of a split would that be?”

“What else would a split be? Half.”

Grayson’s curiosity died amid his laughter. “Do you think I need you so badly that I’d sacrifice a fortune for a victory I’m already certain to win? Show some intelligence. Besides, my master won’t share power, not with the likes of you. He’s decided to make Veldaren his, and nothing will prevent it.”

The ash swirling around Deathmask’s face slowed, grew thicker.

“I am no fool, Grayson. The guilds are crumbling, dying to both you and Victor. I can help finish them off, show you where to shove your sword. What I ask for isn’t much, not when you consider that every coin you take from Veldaren is a coin you didn’t have the day before. But don’t think your take-over of these streets is inevitable. Not when Thren still stalks the city. Not while I’m still alive.”

“Well,” Grayson said. “I guess we should take care of that, shouldn’t we?”

Fire was already surrounding Deathmask’s hands before Grayson rolled to the side, using the wagon as cover. The expected attack from the wizard came, a burst of fire that consumed where he’d stood. It was slow, though, and more flash than heat. He was being played with, Grayson realized, as he leaned his back against the wagon.

“Doesn’t have to go like this,” Deathmask said, his voice drawing nearer. “We could be partners, and work together.”

“Bullshit!” Grayson shouted, his mind elsewhere. Tracy had rolled from the wagon to the door of the shop, hidden from Deathmask’s view. Boggs crouched just above Grayson within the broken wagon. Grayson held up three fingers to Tracy, counting them down. At one, they leaped out, but Deathmask was no longer alone. Men-twins, by the looks of it-stood before him, each holding a pair of daggers. Grayson slid, and he swung his arm to knock Tracy down as well. Four daggers sailed above them, hitting nothing.

“Back,” Grayson said as he turned and ran, sheathing a sword so he could grab Tracy by the arm. No spells gave chase like he thought. Instead, with a few words from Deathmask, his wagons caught fire one by one, burning as if doused with barrels of lantern fuel. Tracy let out a cry for her brother, but amid the smoke Grayson could not tell if he escaped or not.

They ran for the door, but instead of their finding safety in the shop, a woman with a wicked scar across her right eye blocked the way in, bearing the colors of the Ash Guild. She held a dagger in her hand, and it glowed with purple fire.

“Running away?” she asked. “Hardly fits your reputation, Grayson.”

“I think it does,” Deathmask said, calmly walking toward them. Ash circled his head faster and faster, his smile hidden behind cloth yet clearly visible in his eyes. “Arrogance? Shortsightedness? Sun Guild, through and through. The four of us have held our territory for years against all challengers, Grayson, yet you think to brush us aside like children?”

Boggs fell from the back of the nearest wagon, coughing and hacking. Tracy tensed, and Grayson could tell she wanted to go to him. His hands and face were black from the ash, but his burns didn’t seem too severe. Far more worrisome were the twins, who hurried to his location.

“Still breathing,” said the first.

“Just barely,” said the second.

Deathmask stepped closer and closer. Grayson could almost reach him with a lunge, but the man looked unafraid, as if he actually believed he was the dread ghoul he appeared to be. The scarred woman seemed far more tense, and she kept her dagger at the ready.