David Dalglish - A Dance of Blades

“I could burn your flesh until I clung to bone,” he said. His tone told her he spoke truth. “Are you ready to listen, or must I find another?”

“No others,” she said as she prepared. “You won’t have the chance.”

She dropped the dagger. Her powerful legs kicked, and she somersaulted on her palm. Her knees landed on his chest, blasting the air from his lungs. He still clutched her, but she rammed an elbow into his throat, sapping his next few words. She pressed her body against his, keeping the elbow tight. Their foreheads touched. Still he held her other hand.

“What do you want? What is your game? Who are you?”

She released the pressure on his throat just enough for him to speak. Her nerves remained on edge. The second he flinched, or said a syllable that sounded remotely like a spell, she’d crush his larynx and leave him to gag on the street.

“I told you before, I have no name.” He stared at her, eyes unflinching.

“Bullshit. Everyone has a name.”

“And mine was taken from me!”

The anger seemed to warm his very body. Her arm, where he held it, flared with white-hot pain.

“By who?” she asked, her voice low. She wanted him calm. She wanted answers before she ended his life.

“The Council of Mages. They banished me, and declared that I had no name, for I was death. And so that is what I am.”

“Banished for what?”

She heard him chuckle.

“Everyone has their secrets, and I must have mine. What will you do, Veliana? Will you kill me? Or will you listen? I am your last hope. Your guild is crumbling, and you’ve lost control of Garrick, haven’t you?”

Her hesitation was answer enough, so she didn’t bother to lie.

“How do you know that?” she asked.

He shook his head.

“I will answer nothing with an elbow on my throat. Let me up. I promise no harm will come to you tonight.”

Her mind whirled as she thought. He was clever, and dangerous. She could kill him, but what would that gain? Garrick would get what he wanted, his paranoia fed. Clearly this Deathmask had a plan, but whose? Could it be the Council’s? Did he lie about the banishment? No, his anger was too sincere. Despite the mask, she felt he spoke truth. Then what? What should she do?

She thought of Garrick’s mockery, of him telling her how she needed him.

“Stand then,” she said, letting him go as he released her wrist. “And let me hear you speak.”

“I will not tell you everything,” he said as he stood and rubbed his throat. “Not until I can trust you, and perhaps not even afterward. For now, just know that my assignment from the Council was to…watch over the guilds. I know of your true skill and control, Veliana. I know that Garrick was but a puppet, and you were pulling the strings. But that isn’t the case anymore, is it? Something’s changed.”

He retrieved her dagger and tossed it to her. She caught it in her good hand and sheathed both blades. Instead of continuing, he walked over and eyed her other hand.

“If I wanted to hurt you, I’d have done so already,” he said when she tensed.

His fingers brushed hers, feeling along the bone.

“Dislocated,” he said. “Bite the hilt of your dagger if you must.”

“Just do it.”

One after the other he yanked them back into place. The pain was immense, and after the third finger, she leaned against him, unable to stand. He held her steady, and when he finished, he removed his mask and tied it around her hand as a bandage. Through the tears in her eyes she looked upon his face. The anger was gone. It was never directed at her, just those who had banished him. She felt her curiosity grow. Just what did he plan for her guild?

“Listen to me,” he whispered, as if suddenly worried others were listening. He leaned close, his cheek almost touching hers. “I cannot do this alone. I desire to create something special, something Veldaren has never before seen. You won’t be the new guildmaster, I won’t lie about that, but you will always be there at my right hand.”

“Why would I trade Garrick for you if my place shall stay the same?”

He smiled, a bit of his amusement returning to twinkle in his eye.

“Because I respect you. Garrick only knows fear. Which would you prefer? And I will not replace Garrick, not entirely. My aim is greater. We will be legends in the underworld, Vel. All you must do is accept my wisdom.”

She looked to her bandaged hand, then to his eyes.

“I must think on it.”

“Time is against me right now, but you may have a day and a night to decide. Garrick will soon stop his tricks and try to kill me outright, regardless of the fallout. I must have you at my side when that happens.”

She pulled away.

“Resume your post,” she said.

“Of course, milady.”

Before she could go, he put an arm in her way.

“That trick with your dagger,” he said. “The violet flame…where did you learn to do something like that?”

This time it was her turn to smile.

“Everyone has their secrets.”

He seemed amused, and he stepped aside so she could pass. She went into the headquarters, found her bunk, and lay down, not to sleep but to think. She felt lost and confused. There wasn’t anyone she could trust within the Ash Guild for advice, but there was one woman outside the guild who would die to protect her secrets. Dawn was still a few hours away, so perhaps she had time.

Veliana left her bed, changed into a darker outfight, and donned her gray cloak. She used a different door than the one Deathmask guarded, and then took to the rooftops. Once in relative freedom, she removed the cloak signifying her allegiance to the Ash Guild and then set out to meet Zusa at the Gemcroft mansion.

I t was past midnight when Arthur Hadfield arrived at the gates of the Gemcroft mansion, escorted by nine of his soldiers. One of the guards immediately recognized him and opened the gate.

“Our lady sleeps,” said the guard, “but we would not turn away such an esteemed visitor in the cold of night. I pray no ill news brings you here at such an hour?”

“Pray all you want,” Arthur said. “But it won’t change the news I bring.”

Inside the main foyer they stopped and forfeited their weapons, even Arthur’s. He gave the guard a stern look as he handed over his beautiful longsword, a family heirloom of five generations.

“A lash for every scratch,” he said. “Unless you think Alyssa will not listen to me.”

“Understood, sir,” said the guard. “Please, wait here. Our lady will be down shortly; we have already sent a servant to wake her.”

“Warm some food for my men,” Arthur said. “And find me something stiff to drink. I’d rather not meet Alyssa looking pale as a corpse fresh from the grave.”

“Right away.”

Several servants rushed from one room to the next, haggard-eyed and clothes unkempt. Most of the guards looked a little better, but they were probably used to the odd hours and constant threat of thieves sneaking in at night. Most of them likely slept during the day. An elderly lady appeared and ushered the soldiers to follow her.

“Coming?” one asked Arthur.

He shook his head.

“I’ll wait here. All I need is a drink. Enjoy yourselves, and don’t forget,” he glanced at the servant, “to find yourselves lodging for the night. We won’t go traipsing for an inn at this hour.”

It seemed the servant got the message, and even if she didn’t, he knew his men would hammer the point home. Standing in the foyer, he removed his bearskin coat and set it aside. A large fireplace burned at the intersection before him, so he stood beside it and let its heat sink into his skin. When a servant arrived with a glass, he took it and gave it a taste.