David Dalglish - A Dance of Shadows

He looked up at the thief. “What is it you desire of me?” he asked.

Deathmask pulled a cloth from his pocket and tied it across his face. “Help me,” he said, his other hand pulling out a handful of ash. “Swallow your pride, and send your soldiers flooding into the Suns’ newly acquired territory. We’ll crush them here, now, before they gain more than a foothold. I know where they’re hiding, and I can lead your men right to them.”

With a wave of a hand, the ash scattered about Deathmask’s face, then hovered there, hiding his features.

“The city is mine,” he said. “But I am a kinder lord than the Suns will ever be, and unlike them, I possess a sense of humor. Do not doubt your decision, not in this.”

Victor closed his eyes, thought of the carnage he’d seen the day prior while being protected by the Eschaton. The Bloodcrafts were the worst of everything, men and women with strength that made his own armored soldiers look like children by comparison. The amount of dead he could pin on those mercenaries alone was significant. And if the Sun Guild was willing to bring in such reckless murderers…

“You’re sure the Sun Guild hired the Bloodcrafts?” he asked.

“I’m sure of it,” said Deathmask. “If not for them, I’d have already crushed their initial push into the city.”

Victor shook his head. Veldaren was already in dire shape, but the Sun Guild’s arrival only threatened to ruin everything he’d begun. Crushing the current guilds, only to allow them to be replaced… what sense did that make?

With a sigh he looked to Deathmask, watched the ash swirl around his face. Deathmask was one of the monsters, men who wielded power far greater than they deserved. But Victor now faced many such men, and as the guilds grew desperate, whom else would they turn to? Perhaps, to succeed, he needed his own stable of monsters…

“I’ll help you,” he said. “But know that I will watch you closely, and do this only for the good of the city.”

“The good of the city.” Deathmask chuckled. “How quaint.”

He whistled, and the rest of his guild appeared from farther up the street, approaching in their similar colors.

Monsters , thought Victor as they gathered. You said you’d protect me from the monsters, Watcher. But what if I turn the monsters on each other, and let them slay themselves?

“Ready your men,” Deathmask said. “It’s time for a slaughter.”

Victor left without a word, trying to not think about the company he kept, or about the bloodshed to commence. The peace at the end was all that mattered, he told himself. The final victory. The safe streets and unviolated homes.

“Milord?” asked Sef at his return to the tavern’s rear alley.

“Prepare our men to move out,” he said.

“Milord, something troubles you, I can tell. What…”

“I said prepare them to move out!”

Sef took a step back, then bowed low. “Forgive me,” he said.

Victor sighed, put a hand on the man’s shoulder. “No,” he said. “You’ve done much for me, and now I must ask for more. Prepare them all. A new threat has entered our city, and we must crush it while we still have the chance.”

Sef tensed as the Ash Guild came around the corner of the tavern, weapons drawn and shimmering with magic. Victor shook his head and motioned for his soldiers to stand down.

“I do this with a heavy heart,” he said, pointing to Deathmask. “But it must be done. Follow this man’s lead. Once more into the underworld we go.”

Beneath the ash and cloth, Deathmask’s smile grew.

Earlier that morning, Haern met with the rest of the Eschaton Mercenaries on the bottom floor of their tower and outlined his plan. It went about as well as he’d expected.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Tarlak said, shaking his head. “That Nicholas guy alone nearly killed all of us, and it took everything we had to chase them off during their last ambush. Now you want to go charging into a fight with them head on?”

Haern shrugged. “If we’re going to fight, I’d rather us be the ones doing the ambushing. Or would you prefer we wait for them to come to our tower while we sleep, or assault me when I’m alone upon the rooftops?”

“They’ve made their intentions clear,” Delysia said, taking her brother’s hand. “They’ll kill us no matter what it takes. You saw the bodies. How many innocents they killed.”

“I say we do it,” Brug said, hopping up from his chair. “I’ll get my armor.”

“You’re in agreement with this insane scheme too?” Tarlak asked.

Brug shrugged. “What? I killed one of them already. Nothing says I can’t do it again.”

Haern grinned at his friend. “That’s more like it,” he said. “So what will it be, Tarlak? Ready for us to go on the offensive for once?”

Tarlak lifted his hat and scratched the back of his head. “That means I’ll have to face that one lady throwing all the fire, won’t I?”

“Probably.”

“Fine.” A devilish grin spread over his face, removing his pout. “But this time I’m not going in blind. Come on, Brug, I’ll need your help with this.”

Over the day they prepared, and then, before nightfall, Haern led them back to the tavern. He felt confident the Bloodcrafts were like most thieves, sleeping during the day and going out at night. And if not, well, then the Eschaton would catch them sleeping. Hardly the most honorable kill, thought Haern, but he’d dealt worse punishments than that.

The tavern was at the corner of Iron, a major trade route heading north to south through Veldaren, and Raven, a far smaller dirt road that jutted off into the remnants of homes, most of which had been shuttered as the wealth traveled steadily north over the past decade. Haern watched the entrance from an alley on the opposite side of Iron. This gave him a wide view of the tavern, as well as the positions of the rest of the Eschaton.

Tarlak waited atop the baker’s shop beside the tavern. Haern could not see him, for he’d cast a lengthy spell of invisibility upon himself before climbing up. The wizard directly faced the windows of the room in question, and precautions were necessary for such close proximity. Brug and Delysia were up Raven Street, so that if anyone fled away from Tarlak and Haern they’d be there to intercept. No exits went unwatched, no pathways unprotected. None of them liked the potential for collateral damage, but the ambush was set, and at least no innocent families would be butchered, as when the Bloodcrafts had prepared their own ambush.

Time passed, and Haern felt his nerves start to fray. Slowly the sun fell behind the wall.

“Come on,” Haern whispered. “Come on, come on.”

The sky turned red, then purple, and then at last the stars winked into existence one by one. Still no sign. With every passing moment, Haern knew something was wrong. No doubt the rest of his friends were as anxious as he. Maybe he should call the ambush off, or try to sneak into the Bloodcrafts’ room to confirm…

It was only instinct that saved him. He saw a flash of something high above, a shadow that didn’t feel quite right, and without thinking he dove to the side. Down fell a man in a red leather coat, long sword slamming the ground where he’d been. Haern pulled out of his roll, sabers drawn, but his attacker remained back. Surprise gone, he seemed in no hurry.

“Hello, Watcher,” said the man. He was middle-aged, handsome, with dark hair cut short. Haern tensed. He’d crossed swords with him once already, and been stunned by his near-inhuman speed.

“I’d greet you in return,” Haern said, “but I don’t know your name.”

The man grinned. “Carson Bloodcraft. Consider me honored to meet you a second time. Few have the skill to match blades against me and live.”