David Dalglish - A Dance of Blades

She lifted the hood of her cloak and let it fall across her face as Deathmask did the same. He entered one of the side sections curtained off to give privacy with the dancer women, leaving a gap through which he could watch the entrance. Veliana adjusted a giant pile of pillows, hiding behind it. She drew her daggers and waited. Deathmask did the same. There would be no magic for him, no spells of blood and shadows. The moment he did, he’d reveal himself to Garrick. Veliana had trained him for a few hours, but at knife work he was far from proficient. He’d spent an hour casting spells of speed and strength on himself to try and make up for the lack, but he wouldn’t know for sure until the ambush. Not being much of a praying man, he crossed his fingers and swore to succeed whatever the cost.

The door slammed open. In rushed a collection of the Ash Guild; all men closest to Garrick, Deathmask noticed. Their clothes were lacking in blood and gore. No ambushes for Garrick, which put a smile on his face. That fact would work wonders for them later, should he and Veliana survive for the second part of their plan. The thieves went straight for the obvious: the bar filled with bottles of wine and ale. Deathmask was glad he couldn’t see Veliana, who was no doubt smirking. She’d insisted that would be their reaction, whereas he thought many would rest atop the pillows to relax after a brutal night of fighting.

“They’ll drink it off before they sleep it off,” she’d said while they waited through the night.

Need to listen to her more often, he thought. She thinks more like a man than I. What I get for growing up among wizards, I guess.

They both waited, Deathmask watching until he was sure…and there he was, standing amid his men, holding his glass the highest as they toasted a night of survival.

“To standing atop the dead!” he heard Garrick say.

Toasting your own cowardice? And to think I thought I was a bastard.

He pushed aside the curtain and charged, his dagger drawn and ready. As he pushed himself to the limit, he felt his feet move faster, the world almost imperceptibly slower. He buried his dagger into the back of the nearest thief, whose glass fell from his hand. Before it hit the ground, two daggers flew across the room, thudding into the back of another. Veliana scattered pillows as she lunged, much of her face thankfully hidden by her hood. She kicked the closest thief, the one she’d hit with her daggers, yanking out the blades as her foot slammed him into the others. Wine splashed to the floor as the rest dropped their drinks and drew their blades, crying out warnings of trap and ambush.

Garrick was in their center, and he fell back instead of drawing his dagger. Deathmask knew he was Veliana’s target, not his, but he had to clear a path for her. Side-stepping a thrust, he jammed his dagger into the chest of another, using the body to protect himself from several more. The Ash members were starting to spread out, better to take advantage of their numbers. That thinned the wall toward Garrick, and Veliana wielded her daggers like a demoness, twisting and curling to avoid every thrust. Blood soon joined the wine that stained the floor. Deathmask felt pride in seeing her work. No one that survived could possibly doubt that the best of the Spider Guild had come to take the life of a rival.

Well, those that watched her, anyway. He, on the other hand, struggled to stay alive. His dagger batted side to side, sometimes faster than he expected thanks to the earlier enchantment. The impulse to cast a spell to blind his opponent filled him, and only at the last second did he refrain. The ruse was more important. He gained nothing giving himself away. The Ash needed to be his guild to rule. He couldn’t do that if revealed in the guise of a rival guild. His arms trembled as he felt steel cut into them. He fought three men at once, and they grinned at the sight of blood. He was outmatched, and now they knew it.

“Finish it!” he cried to Veliana, hurrying to the door.

Veliana was in the middle of disemboweling another man, and at his cry, she shoved him aside. The path between her and Garrick was clear. Instead of charging, she lifted a dagger and threw. Its aim was true. The point pierced his shoulder and lodged deep, burying up to the hilt. Garrick howled as his blood ran.

That was enough. Deathmask rushed for the exit, feeling like his legs didn’t belong to him. Veliana hesitated for just a moment, and he saw her other dagger trembling in her hand. Trusting her to do the smart thing, he burst through the door and into the night. She appeared a moment later, looking none too pleased.

“Come on,” he said. He took a zigzag course through the city, on a path he had memorized by heart. They arrived at an inn with rooms they’d already paid for several hours before. Deathmask climbed in through a window, which had no glass, only thick wood shutters that he had left unlocked. He was already changing back into his Ash Guild outfit when Veliana climbed inside.

“Did you kill him?” he asked.

“I wanted to.”

“That a no?”

She yanked the mask off her face and flung back her hood. “What do you think?”

He grinned. Knowing his skill was nowhere near hers, he’d left the delicate task of harming, but not killing, Garrick up to Veliana. Up until the throw itself, he hadn’t been sure if she would make it lethal or not.

“You did marvelously,” he said, tossing the old cloak to the bed and pulling off his tunic. “And now I can trust you all the more. If I was in your position, I might have accidentally hit Garrick’s throat.”

“That would have left me homeless and guildless,” she said, grabbing her old Ash outfit from the bed. She reached for the door.

“Where you going?” he asked.

“To change.”

The door shut behind her. Deathmask sighed. No fun at all.

She returned moments later, dressed in the colors of the Ash and looking to be in an even fouler mood.

“They’re still stained with my blood,” she said, referring to the red patch on her chest.

“I’ll try to get you something newer when I can,” he said. “Didn’t want to attract any attention. They might wonder why I was requesting an outfit for someone half my weight.”

“You’re a thief now, remember? Steal it.”

Deathmask shrugged. “Ready?”

She pushed him aside and climbed out the window.

“This better work,” she muttered. “Otherwise we’re in for a lengthy death.”

“I’m in for one perhaps, but you’ve already had your public execution, remember?”

She slammed the shutters in his face.

W hen amid her grief, she had thought hearing the cries of pain and seeing the river of blood would give her closure, but instead Alyssa felt hollow as she watched the fires spread across the city. Standing at the second-story window of her private study, she touched the cold glass and wondered what it was she had done. Had she brought freedom to the city? Peace of mind?

Not this night. But perhaps this was just like cauterizing a wound. There would be heat, pain, but then the bleeding would stop and healing could commence.

Someone knocked on the door, and she had a feeling who. The rest of her help would be asleep, or perhaps laying awake in their rooms, wondering about the safety of their friends and family beyond her mansion’s walls.

“Come in, Arthur,” she said, surprised by how tired she sounded. She rubbed her face with her hand, discovering tears. Had she really reached such a low, crying without realizing it while she wasted the night away staring out a window?

The door opened, then softly shut. Moments later she felt Arthur’s hands on her shoulders. When he started massaging she leaned back, pressing her head against his neck.