David Dalglish - A Dance of Shadows

“I could say the same.”

Carson chuckled. “Indeed. Let me make this quick, Watcher. We knew you’d come for us after our last ambush, and we have prepared one of our own. We know where your friends are, all of them. Yes, even the wizard foolish enough to think we couldn’t see through a simple invisibility spell. With but a signal, they’ll attack.”

The man was too confident, the tone of his voice and pull of his smile too consistent. No lie. Tarlak, Delysia, Brug… they were all in danger.

“What do you want?” Haern asked, subtly tightening the muscles in his legs for a leap. “Do you wish to mock me before you try to kill me?”

Carson shook his head. “Our mission is to eliminate you as a threat, Watcher. This can be done a lot of ways. But you see, your mercenaries killed two of our members, which leaves us with some openings. Your skill is incredible. With your reputation and your abilities, you’d make a fine addition to the Bloodcrafts.”

Carson stood, held his sword out to the side. Something sparkled in his brown eyes, and it made Haern’s head ache.

“What do you say to that? Leave this pathetic group you serve. Whatever coin they pay you, I promise we can increase it tenfold. They only hold you back.”

Haern took a single step, just enough to shift his weight so he might leap with greater speed. Carson saw it, and he held his sword before his chest.

“If you agree, we’ll leave the rest of your group alive. Decline, well… you’re still a threat needing to be dealt with. Make a choice, Watcher, but do us both a favor… make the intelligent one. You’re too good to be weighed down with petty morality and friendships.”

Despite the danger, Haern let out a laugh. “You think I do this for the coin?” he asked. “You damn fool. Give your signal. We’ll see who dies tonight.”

It was a bold bluster, a way to keep the fear for his friends hidden. He had to trust them, trust his own ability to finish off Carson in time to help the others. Carson shook his head, looking disappointed.

“Despite the loss of such potential, I’m glad you refuse,” he said. Something about his voice changed, as if he were suddenly hurrying his words. “You killed my daughter, Watcher. I’ll make sure you suffer greatly for that.”

His free hand lifted, and when he made to snap his fingers Haern lunged at him, sabers leading. Sword a blur, Carson parried both to the side, then shifted so his elbow slammed into Haern’s chest as he came crashing in. Breath lost, Haern swung twice in a futile attempt to keep the man on the defensive while he fell back, gasping for air. Carson parried the swings with ease, holding his sword with a single hand. His movements showed no slowing, no panic. He didn’t even look as if he were breathing hard.

He can’t be that good , Haern thought, trying to decide his next attack pattern. I’ve fought Thren, the Wraith, Dieredon… he can’t be greater than them.

During his indecision, Carson snapped his fingers, then winked.

“Time for some fun,” he said, again in that clipped, rapid speech, and then on the other side of the street the roof of the bakery erupted in flame. Before Haern could react, Carson stepped in, sword slashing. Haern blocked, a fraction of a second away from missing. He kept his swords out wide, using the only advantage he had. No matter where Carson thrust or slashed, Haern had a blade ready, just a flick of a wrist away from parrying. Not that it mattered. Carson thrust, looped his sword around, thrust again. When Haern tried to parry the second thrust, Carson batted both sabers aside as if Haern were a child. The tip of his sword continued unabated, piercing Haern’s shoulder.

Rolling away before it could punch deeper, Haern fell to one knee, fighting off the urge to clutch the wound with a hand. His sabers shook in his grip as blood ran down the front of his shirt.

How? Haern wondered. How can he be that fast?

Carson stepped closer, and in desperation Haern employed his most skillful delay. Spinning, he grabbed his cloaks and flung them into the air, turning faster and faster so that his movements were a blur, the location of his hands and swords undecipherable to any but the most skilled. It should have worked, but Carson only shook his head as if disappointed. Something felt wrong. Haern noticed it just before Carson attacked, undeterred by his cloakdance. The cloaks were hanging lower than they should have, seemingly falling faster than usual, unable to maintain momentum.

Flinging himself back, Haern realized what was wrong. It wasn’t that Carson was moving faster. It was that he was moving slower . While the magic affected him, it did nothing to the cloaks. All his senses were dulled, delayed. The rapid speech, he realized. Even his hearing was affected. The delay didn’t appear to be great, just enough to sap away his greatest advantage.

Carson stalked closer, unworried about Haern’s sudden retreat. And why would he be? Could Haern get away while running as if pushing through molasses? Forcing himself to stay calm, he continued his backward retreat. High above, smoke blotted out the stars, the result of the fire that continued to burn. Heavy concussion sounds rocked the building. It sounded like Tarlak was still alive, but for how long?

“Have you given up already?” Carson asked, steadily approaching. “You’ve yet to make me break a sweat. You fought so well earlier… what happened, Watcher? To think you beat Joanna is insulting.”

What had happened? He’d fought Carson and the dagger thrower simultaneously. Yes, he’d been pushed to the limit, but still he’d endured. What was different now? What slowed him so?

“Come,” Carson said. “Look me in the eye so I can see your fear as you die.”

The eye…

Haern stared into those brown orbs, and again he felt an ache grow in his forehead. Tarlak’s words echoed in his ears.

I’d call it cheating…

Something about Carson’s gaze, be it spell or hypnotism, was digging into him, pooling in his mind. Haern looked down, forced himself to watch Carson’s hands and hands only. Normally he might read a man’s face to gauge his tension, to watch for tells and signs of impatience. But not now. Gaze low, Haern breathed in deep. He didn’t know how the spell or hypnotism worked, or how long it might last, but he had to endure until the effects waned. The first time he and Carson had fought, Haern had had his attention split between two opponents, no doubt weakening the effect. If he could survive then, he could survive now. He had to.

Carson stepped close, and he repeatedly thrust for Haern’s chest, pulling back every time Haern tried to parry. Haern watched, more and more aware of the sluggishness of his reactions. He felt robbed of speed, robbed of strength.

“What’s the matter, Watcher?” Carson asked. Haern noticed the strange, hurried aspect of his voice was not quite so prominent.

Haern gave no answer, only grinned.

It seemed Carson suddenly realized the shift. He pushed his attack, this time without mockery, no longer playing with him. Haern kept his eyes down, watching only Carson’s hands and the movements of his feet. Carson was a viper, trying to mesmerize his prey with his gaze. But Haern was no mouse.

No, he’d been raised a Spider.

From side to side he shifted, avoiding thrusts, smashing aside cuts. Carson tried to step in and strike him with a fist, but Haern ducked underneath, whirling so his cloaks hid his movements. This time when he stood he counterattacked, the tip of his saber slashing open a bleeding wound across Carson’s cheek.

Much as he wanted to enjoy the shock and fear in Carson’s eyes, Haern pulled his hood lower across his face and stared at the ground.