David Dalglish - A Dance of Blades

“Members of the Ash,” Deathmask said, screening Veliana with his body. He wanted to maximize the impact of revealing her, she knew. A smirk crossed her lips. They all thought her dead, Garrick included. How his mouth would drop, how wide his eyes would go… All around, the thieves stood and drew their weapons, for though Deathmask was one of them, there was something dangerous about his arrival, in the way he walked, the way he addressed them.

“You,” Garrick said, pointing a shaking finger. “You turned the Spiders against us, didn’t you? Why else would they let you live?”

“I am not the one who went into bed with the Spider thinking I might not get bitten,” Deathmask said. “This destruction is your doing, all your doing. Listen to me, guildmembers! He sold your souls to Thren Felhorn, all so he might sleep well at night.”

“You lie!”

About a third of the men around them were exchanging glances, and their daggers and clubs lowered. Veliana watched and waited. She had to be fast. The first attacker needed to die immediately if she were to discourage the rest. When it came to a battle of personalities between Deathmask and Garrick, there would be no contest. At some point, Garrick would call an end to it before he lost completely.

“How else would you have maintained leadership?” Deathmask asked. “Why else would the guilds have made peace with you, even though your position was weak? Weeks ago you made your pact, and one by one the other guilds realized and left you alone. Only the Hawks attacked, and only once. Thren punished them severely for that, didn’t he?”

More mumblings about them. A couple glared at Garrick. These were the rumblings of treason, Veliana knew. Normally such accusations would be whispered ear to ear, allowed to fester and grow. But the Trifect had pressed too hard. If they were to survive, they needed new leadership, and now.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Garrick said. He had drawn his dagger, but it remained at his side, as if he were afraid to even point it at Deathmask.

“Come now. We all know whose guild this truly was, before it was Thren’s. It was Veliana’s, not yours, never yours. That is why you wanted her dead.”

Louder grumblings, though many were disparaging her name. She felt anger simmer in her heart. Even now, they would deny her work, her sweat, her toil. The gods damn them all.

“She died because she tried to kill you, that’s all,” Garrick said.

Veliana stepped to Deathmask’s side and pulled her hood back. She smiled, and the look on Garrick’s face was everything she’d hoped it’d be.

“I never died,” she said. Her voice was soft, but even a whisper could have been heard in that suddenly quiet room. “But you will, you traitor. You sold our soul to Thren. I can never forgive you.”

She flung herself at him, not caring for her safety, nor the greater numbers. She would have his head, and this time, no one would stop her. Garrick cried out for aid, and several thieves jumped in her way. Spinning away from a club, she gutted one on her left, rolled along the ground, and hamstrung another as she stood. The one with the club tried to smash her back, but she twirled again, her spine bending in an unnatural angle so the swing passed above her breasts. And then she was up again, stabbing him repeatedly, kicking away his corpse with seven bleeding holes in his chest.

“Make your choice!” Deathmask cried out. It seemed many had. They turned on the others, striking at those who moved toward him. The room was now in chaos, and within it, Veliana thrived. She kicked out the legs of one rushing for Deathmask, burying a dagger through his ribs as his body hit the ground. Pulling it free, she flicked blood off it toward Garrick, who stood with his back to the wall, his dagger held before him.

“Where’s Then to protect you now?” she asked as she stalked him, her daggers hungry in her hands. “Where’s the men who would rather rape me than serve under my leadership? Where’s your guild, Garrick?”

A blinding flash burst from behind her, a spell of some sort from Deathmask. In its light she rushed Garrick, her knee leading. It slammed into his crotch while she swatted away his dagger. Her other dagger’s hilt struck his forehead. She rammed an elbow into his mouth, then slashed across his face when she pulled back. Blood spurted from a gash across the bridge of his nose. His cry of pain was a garbled, weak thing.

“Now you’re the example,” she whispered to him. She stabbed her dagger into his throat, twisted it left, then right, and finally yanked it free. Blood splashed across her chest, but she didn’t mind. At his death, much of the chaos slowed, for it seemed there was little point left in fighting. She glanced around and saw all eyes upon either her or Deathmask. Only ten remained of the initial twenty.

“Those who would betray their loyalties deserve nothing less,” Deathmask said, kneeling beside Garrick’s body. He put a hand on his head, which burst into flame. The fire did not burn him. The body blackened and smoked, and in seconds it was nothing but a pile of ash. Taking a handful, Deathmask stood and flung it into the air. It revolved around his head, hiding his visage, making him look like some strange monster instead of a man.

“I am the Ash now. None of you are worthy of my leadership. You killed for me, and for that, I spare your lives. Be gone. Throw down your colors, or prepare to have them stained with your blood.”

It seemed none there had the will to challenge the blood-soaked Veliana and her master. Her heart panged at their exit, feeling like the last remnants of the guild she and James had built were gone, but Deathmask had promised her something greater, and she had to trust him. She scanned those exiting, looking for a set of faces, men who had remained out of the fight like the sensible opportunists they were.

“Nier, Mien,” she said as they left. “You two, stay.”

The twins looked back. They had pale skin, dark hair, and brown eyes that seemed to twinkle with subdued amusement.

“Yes?” they asked.

Deathmask approached them, and he offered his hand.

“Veliana has vouched for your skills. Would you remain with me, and fight not for the Ash Guild that was, but for what it might yet be?”

The two glanced about the room, as if to point out the obvious to them.

“What guild?” Mier asked.

“There are only us four,” said Nien.

“And as long as the four of us live, there will always be an Ash Guild,” Deathmask said. “You have seen what we can do. Join us. We need your strength tonight. The mercenaries must be shown that we will not roll over and die for them.”

The twins shared a look, and Veliana swore some sort of mental conversation was going on between them that she was not privy to. Then they accepted Deathmask’s offered hand and shook it.

“Why not?”

“Could be fun.”

“Indeed,” Deathmask said, grinning behind his mask of cloth and ash. Veliana shook her head, wiped the blood clean from her daggers. She spat on what little was left of Garrick’s remains.

*

H aern sat atop the roof of the Eschaton’s home and watched the sun dip below the wall. His elbow rested upon his knee, his chin on his hand. Tarlak’s words haunted him, and no matter how hard he tried, he could not shake them from his head.

I don’t care who you think you are, or how good you might be, he’d said. You’re a danger to me, and a danger to my sister. I made you an offer, and I won’t go back on it now, but you better put some serious thought into it, because otherwise you’re just a renegade killer with a vendetta. There’s no reason to house you then, no point. How many more will come storming through my windows, come kicking down my doors? I’m terrified the secret’s out, Haern, or it will be soon. What do you expect me to do? Fight for you? Protect you? Give me a reason. Any.