David Dalglish - A Dance of Cloaks

“You are determined, servant of Karak,” Zusa shouted across the river. With her back to the fire, Alyssa watched, her eyes adjusted enough to see the man standing on the other side. His armor was even darker than the night. He drew his sword, and black flame swelled about it.

“My name is Ethric, and my faith is fervent,” the paladin shouted back. “But you have cast aside your wrappings, disobeying the order of our god. Will you fight me like a naked whore, or do you hope to distract me while you cut my flesh with your dagger?”

“When you are dead, I will cast your body to the river,” Zusa shouted. “The fish will nibble on your eyes and worms will feed on your guts. Do you still desire to cross?”

Ethric laughed.

“Desire? My desires mean nothing. Karak has commanded your death and the return of Alyssa Gemcroft. I will cross, and I will burn your head and leave your body for the wolves.”

He took a step into the water. Zusa crouched, her dagger held before her eyes. To Alyssa, she appeared some strange wildling, dangerous, calm and insane. She shifted closer to the fire, feeling for the first time in her life an urge to pray. Whatever fate lay before her, she knew she wanted the dark paladin to have no part of it. But who could she pray to in her desire for death other than Karak? Surely Karak would accept no prayers aimed at the destruction of his own champion.

“One more step,” said Zusa. “Just one more, and I will kill you. The water is your death, paladin.”

Ethric waded into the river. At first it flowed to his waist, then rose until it was above his chest. He kept his sword held high, its dark fire absorbing the light of the stars so that it seemed a deep chasm floated above his head. Zusa remained still, her body crouched. Whispers floated off her tongue. The shadows grew about her, hiding her nakedness.

Protect her, Alyssa prayed, though she knew not to whom. She may not deserve it, and neither do I, but protect her anyway.

Once Ethric was in the center of the river, Zusa leapt. It seemed the chains of the world had left her, for she vaulted high in the air. A cloak of shadow followed her even though she was naked. For a moment, she soared as if on wings, and then curled her body downward, diving like a bird of prey. Ethric tilted his sword, but his movements were hampered by the deep water.

The collision was brutal. Alyssa gasped as shadows collided against shadows. Water erupted as if the ground had thrown up its contents and shifted the river. A single harsh clang of steel rang in her ears. When the river calmed and her eyes could once again see, she saw neither of the combatants. Her heart trembled. She thought to run. Freezing to death seemed far better than whatever fate the dark paladin planned for her.

The water rippled, and then Zusa stepped onto the shore, water dripping from her slender body.

“I warned him,” she said, and then a smile broke out across her face. “He drowned. Make room by the fire.”

Zusa sat beside her wrappings, crossed her legs, and leaned toward the purple flame. Hardly believing it, Alyssa stripped off her own wet clothing and huddled closer. Both naked, wet, and freezing, Alyssa laughed at what a sight the two of them must be.

“I think many a man would love to stumble upon our camp this night,” she said.

“One did,” Zusa said, glancing to the river. “I pray he enjoyed what he saw.”

They cuddled together for warmth beside the fire that never faltered.

A lyssa shuddered, then looked up. Yoren approached their camp, walking over the river as if he were a ghost. When he neared, he grabbed one of her nipples and squeezed it so tight it hurt.

“I missed you,” he said, smiling. His teeth, no longer gold, were crumbling ash. She screamed. He kissed her, his tongue ramming down her throat as if it were a snake. Suddenly it was a snake, crawling down into her belly and coiling there. She thought she’d vomit, but when she did he shoved his hand over her mouth and forced her to swallow it back down.

When morning came, Alyssa groaned and reached for her clothing. The fire was gone, and her skin pale and covered with goosepimples. Zusa lay beside her, awake but still undressed.

“Your dreams were ill,” Zusa said.

“They were,” Alyssa said, pulling on her dress, which was blessedly dry but for a thin layer of dew. “I hope they’re not a portent of things to come.”

“I dreamed too,” Zusa said. “Karak sent me warning of my path. I walked upon a road of flame, and every step burned the soles of my feet. Eventually I had to crawl, and when I could not crawl, I collapsed. The fire wouldn’t kill me, though. It only caused me pain. What is it you dreamed?”

Alyssa explained her dream. Zusa’s eyes seemed so sad when she looked upon her.

“You are pregnant with Yoren’s seed,” she said. “The signs are obvious. He will take over your household through your child.”

“Will you return me to him?” Alyssa asked. “I do not wish to be their slave.”

“Even without you they will move,” Zusa said. “They mean to kill Lord Gemcroft as an end to their problems.”

“Then what am I to do?” she asked.

“There is a ferry a mile south,” Zusa said as she started covering her body with her wrappings. When she reached her neck she stopped, and a playful smile came over her. She tossed the rest, leaving her face and hair exposed.

“We will talk along the way,” Zusa said. “We tread a dangerous line, and you will find no help in either Kull or Gemcroft. You are trapped between vipers and a pit.”

Her eyes twinkled.

“Still, even vipers may serve their purpose.”

H aern awoke on a simple bed stuffed with straw. A blanket covered him. Bandages wrapped the cuts across his body, every one of them stinging like freshly opened wounds. The room was dark and without windows, but light from the hallway crept in through the crack of the door, allowing him to see.

Tears filled his eyes. Haern fought down a wild laugh. He’d lived. He’d come face to face with the Lion and lived. His father would be furious…if he ever found out. Haern had no intention of letting him. His days as Thren’s heir were done. He’d tear himself free or die trying. No matter what his fate, he’d make sure Delysia’s death meant something.

“Please,” he prayed. “I am in the den of lions. Keep me safe.”

He slid off the bed. His gray clothes were shredded, but the cuts were thin and the cloth mostly intact. He wished he had his mask, though. Without it, he still had the face of Aaron. His smile grew as he realized he wore the face of a dead man. How many would truly know that was the case?

His pillow had a covering, so he removed it and then quickly searched the room. His footsteps made no sound, and his fingers were like feather-strokes upon his surroundings. He found no weapon in the lone drawer, nor stashed under his bed or beside the door. Disappointed, he tied the covering across his mouth as if he were a low-rate bandit. It’d have to do for now.

Haern crept to the door and lay flat upon the floor. From what he could see through the crack, the hallway was empty. A lone torch flickered opposite, the source of his light. Now the real test. He stood and gently tested the door. It wasn’t locked.

“Thank you,” he whispered to the answerer of his prayer. “Now keep it up, alright?”

He heard no sound, not the fall of footsteps, the bored shuffling of a guard, or the soft breathing of a slumbering man. Knowing it was all a matter of luck, or faith, Haern pushed the door open a crack and slid out into the hallway.

It was empty. Haern gently shut the door behind him just in case. The carpet was thick and soft. He couldn’t have asked for better. Small torches lit every twenty feet, hanging from iron loops embedded in the walls. Bits of purple flickered in their centers. They released no smoke.