David Dalglish: A Dance of Blades

He tied the cloth over his face, and through the holes in the mask, winked at her.

“The only way I leave will be as your guildmaster,” he said.

Because of the mask, she could not see if he smiled, or search his features for tells. In the end, she decided it didn’t matter.

“Come with me,” she said. “You’re bound to make waves, so I think it best Garrick meet with you now…assuming he trusts you enough to be in the same room.”

He moved, faster than she thought possible. His left hand wrapped around her waist. His right grabbed her wrist, and he pulled her close. She tried to draw her dagger, but he held her tight. Their eyes locked on one another.

“You were brave enough to come this close,” he said, his voice nearly a whisper. “And even in my arms, you do not tremble. I will remember that. Tell me, woman, what is your name?”

“Veliana,” she said.

He let her go. She slapped him, and he straightened his mask.

“Deserved, and well worth it,” he said. “Lead on, Veliana. I wish to see your guildmaster.”

*

S he waited until they’d secured the powder in a separate safe house before taking the strange man with her to meet Garrick. They’d moved around many times, a result of their weak status and constant war with the rest of the guilds. Only recently had they made peace with most, though the Hawk Guild still preyed heavily upon them. If not for this…Death…then Veliana knew there was a good chance she’d be a corpse.

Assuming he wasn’t part of the trap.

Their current base was in the confines of a small merchant guild, one desperate enough for coin that they’d accepted Garrick’s bribes. As lairs went, it wasn’t the most secretive, but at least it was warm in the winter months, and moderately well furnished. Veliana led them through a side door. Four steps down they stopped at a basement door, with small lamps burning for light at either side. She frowned at the lack of guards. No doubt they were on the inside. Garrick liked having his protectors there with him at all times, even if it wasn’t safer. They should have been out in the cold, keeping watch so they could lock and bar the door if something went awry.

But of course the door was locked and barred anyway when she tried to open it. Rolling her eyes, she knocked twice, then once. She heard the scraping of metal, and then a slit opened to reveal a bloodshot pair of eyes.

“Say the pass,” said the guard.

“Veliana. Now open the damn door.”

There was a password, of course. Three, even, in case she needed to alert them to a hidden threat. But she was in no mood, and she knew the guard on the other side was too spineless to refuse her entrance. The slit closed, and as they heard a loud thumping, Death chuckled behind her.

“Your professionalism is astounding,” he said. “I know I came with few expectations, but still, I feel them failing to be met.”

“Quiet,” she said. “And stay here. I’ll need to introduce you to Garrick first.”

She paused and gave him a glance. The mask hid his face, but she couldn’t fight off the feeling he was smirking at her.

“Just how should I introduce you, anyway?” she asked.

“I told you, I have no name.”

“That makes for a poor introduction. Should I call you Death? It’s a little over the top, but I’ve heard worse.”

“Death might be too great a mantle for me to wear,” said the man. “But I can bear no name for the curse given me. All I have is my mask. Perhaps you can call me that.”

The door opened, and she stepped inside. A guard stood at either side, their daggers drawn. The room was well lit with many lanterns. At one end were tables of maps, documents, and a locked chest for guild funds. At the other were blankets, pillows, and illegal measures of comfort. Amid the meager luxury sat Garrick, his eyes glazed from the substance he smoked through a short pipe. Several other men lay scattered about him, their senses just as dull from the smoke and liquor.

“Veliana!” Garrick said, standing. “Did the trade go through as…”

He stopped as Veliana’s guest shoved his way inside, so fast that he was beside her before the guards reacted. He made no threatening motion, only stayed at her side. With an elaborate bow, he greeted the guildmaster.

“Mighty Garrick, how the shadows tremble when I mention your name,” he said, and Veliana felt anger burn inside her at the obvious sarcasm. Garrick, however, seemed oblivious to it. Instead, he appeared worried by the newcomer’s strange attire and sudden entrance. He stepped back and ran a hand through his long brown hair, a sign Veliana knew meant he was nervous.

“And who are you?” he asked. “A friend of Veliana’s?”

“This is…Death’s Mask,” she said. “He helped us tonight, may have saved many lives. We’ve been betrayed, Garrick. When we…”

“Do you still have the powder?” Garrick interrupted.

“I…yes, we do.”

“Good, good,” said Garrick. He sat back down on the cushions, drew his dagger, and held it in hand while he listened. “Now what is this betrayal you speak of? And tell me again…” – he made a sound like a cross of a laugh and a cough – “who this Death…Deathmask is?”

“One of your men betrayed you, killed the rest, and hoped to have the Hawks destroy your guild as you came to make the trade,” said Deathmask, accepting the name without pause. “I killed them as a way of showing you my worth. I wished to join your Ash Guild, and Veliana has accepted me.”

Veliana opened her mouth to correct him, then shut it. It was pointless to argue now, and Garrick’s eyes flared at what he’d heard. He set his pipe aside and gently touched the tip of his dagger.

“And how did you know this ambush was to take place?” he asked.

Deathmask smiled but did not answer.

“No matter,” Garrick said. “I take it our betrayer was killed?”

“Painfully,” said Deathmask.

“Good. The more pressing question, then, is why the Hawks are so eager to come down on us. I must think about this.”

“Think?” asked Veliana. “We need to counter, and quickly, before they know their ambush failed. Surely there’s a few of theirs scouting our streets. If we can mark our borders with their blood, we can send a message.”

“We will do no such thing,” Garrick said. He winced as he pierced his skin with the dagger’s tip, but instead of cleaning it, he watched the blood trickle down the blade. “I will handle this in my own manner. Kadish Vel is no real threat to us.”

“With all due respect,” said Deathmask, “he’d have killed either of you today if it weren’t for me.”

The room turned silent, and the rest of the thieves lounging about watched as if awaiting an execution.

“Is that so?” asked Garrick. Veliana tensed, wondering what he would do. “Then it is a good thing we have you now, isn’t it? Patrick, take him upstairs and get him fitted for a cloak. Wouldn’t want him showing the wrong colors, would we?”

Deathmask bowed, shot Veliana a wink, and then followed his escort out of the basement. Garrick stood and looked to the others.

“Out,” he told them. “You’ve smoked enough of my wealth. Get out!”

They all jumped to leave, all but Veliana. She could see the way he stared at her and knew herself exempt from the command. As the last shut the door, Garrick strode over and grabbed her by the throat.

“Have you lost your damn mind?” he asked.

She kept her breathing calm as his fingers tightened. He wouldn’t leave a bruise, not yet, but if he did…

“And have you lost yours?” she asked. He raised an eyebrow. The veins in his eyes pulsed, their edges yellow. In answer to his question, she drew one of her daggers and pressed its edge against his wrists.