A Dance of Blades (14 page)

Just like last time, Arthur wondered if he were being tested. This time the wording seemed too strong to be coincidence. He decided to go out on a limb.

“I’m sure that even if we do catch the Watcher, it’ll be tough proving that’s who he is,” he said.

“No one seems to know,” Bertram agreed. “Though I trust you in these matters, and would vouch for your opinion.”

Arthur’s eyes lit up.

“Is that so?” he said. “I don’t think it will be long before I have a man to present to her. The city might be large, but there are too many eyes, too many mouths, for a man to hide. But I’m glad to know your trust in me is so great.”

“I trust you more than I would any of them,” Bertram said, waving a dismissive hand at the mercenaries. “The Hadfields have always been good friends of the Gemcrofts. I can only do so much. Alyssa needs help in matters such as these, a guiding voice amid her grief. If only you could talk to her, get her to
listen
…”

“I understand,” Arthur said. “I have my own matters to attend, but I should return before nightfall, or close to it. When I do, I’ll see if Alyssa will open up to me.”

“Thank you,” Bertram said, bowing low. “Now, if you will, I must try to convince those men that while the wine is a courtesy, it is certainly not free if you drink it by the barrel.”

“Gods give you luck with that.”

Arthur left the dining hall, retrieved his coat and sword, and exited the estate. Normally Oric would have gone with him, but he had headed north after bringing back Nathaniel’s supposed remains. Arthur was skilled with a sword, though, and he knew his way. Besides, once inside the Serpent’s territory, he’d be treated like a king.

Only minutes from Alyssa’s mansion, he noticed the first of many escorting him along the shadows. Their cloaks were green, so he relaxed. No doubt William Ket, leader of the Serpent Guild, wanted to protect his investments. Arthur couldn’t blame him. He took a few turns, vanishing deeper into the dark, dilapidated part of the city. Several more followed him, and for a moment, he swore he even saw someone along the rooftops. When he arrived at the guildhouse, his escorts came into view of its torches, and they motioned for him to enter.

Amid the emerald cushions and gold-framed paintings, Arthur sat and waited for William. A pretty lady wearing thin veils, and nothing else, approached and asked him his preference of drink. Normally he refused, always fearing some sort of poison or drug, but tonight he needed the help.

“The strongest of whatever you have,” he said. “Oh, but make sure it doesn’t taste like piss.”

“As you wish,” she said, batting her beautiful green eyes at him. He watched her go, admiring her figure. With enough coin, he knew he could have her. Shame he had to spend the night at Alyssa’s mansion. Tight figure like that, there was so much he could do to…

“Arthur! Welcome!”

Arthur stood and tore his attention away from the little tart.

“William,” he said, offering his hand to his younger brother, who had been William Hadfield before he’d changed his name to Ket to protect his family from embarrassment. “My apologies for being gone so long.”

“No need,” said William. He was as tall as Arthur, and had the same eyes and hair. “I figure you have your hands full handling a grieving mother, am I right?”

“Hands aren’t full just yet, but she’ll give in to me in time.”

The lady returned with his drink, and he accepted it gratefully. After a sip to test its flavor (about somewhere between sewer water and burning oil) he took a large gulp. As it set his throat aflame, he chuckled at his brother.

“You’ve been late with your last shipment,” he said, holding back a cough. Damn that stuff was strong. “I’m a little curious as to why.”

William’s smile drooped, but only for a moment before he fixed it, this time far more fake.

“I should have figured a leisurely chat was not in store for me this evening. The gold was stolen from us as we smuggled it into the city, and through no fault of our own.”

“No fault? Is that so? A convenient excuse to not pay me my half, wouldn’t you think?”

William sat down, and Arthur followed suit. The two stared at one another, a quick, silent exchange. Arthur knew William was trying to decide how much he should tell, and what his reaction might be. For once, he hoped his little brother told the truth, the whole damn truth.

“Have you heard of the Watcher, by any chance?”

Arthur was too surprised to hide his reaction.

“Should I take that as a yes?” William asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I have, but tell your tale first, and then perhaps I can better explain mine.”

William waved over another servant girl, who brought him a vintage of wine in a long slender glass.

“Well, whoever that bastard is got lucky,” he said after taking a sip. “Stumbled upon us while we were lifting the crate over the wall. Killed my men, took the bags of gold, and then do you know what this motherfucker did? He scattered it across the street. Middle of the day, high market, and he just tears them open and flings ‘em to the crowd. Not the first time he’s done that to us, either, but usually with smaller amounts. Scary, really. If he’d throw away that much coin, then there isn’t a chance we can bribe or deal with him. He’s out to kill us, all of us, not just Serpents. Wish I knew what we’d done to piss him off.”

“Normally I’d doubt the ability of one man to kill so many of yours,” said Arthur, “but I’ve seen it for myself. Lost six soldiers to the Watcher. Wrote his name with their blood. He took some of the gold, but not all, thank the gods. Another day or two and I’ll have the rest outside the walls and ready for you. Alyssa thinks all of it was stolen, which will help make up for what we lost.”

“I can exchange most of it into Neldaren crowns with my merchants, and amusingly enough, by buying large quantities of food and wine from Keenan. Something quite appropriate about laundering the Trifect’s gold using the Trifect themselves. Any large increase will take some time, though. When will you be ready to pick up your portion of what we’ve exchanged so far?”

“Keep it safe for now. Things are too chaotic. That’s one of the other reasons I’ve come. Tomorrow is Nathaniel’s funeral, and come nightfall, you need to make sure your men are prepared. Alyssa’s hired at least a thousand mercenaries, perhaps far more. She’s going to let them loose upon the city.”

William’s face darkened. “Is she mad? What could we have done to spark such animosity…unless you blamed her son’s death on us?”

“I told her the Watcher was in the pay of the guilds to keep her from asking too many questions. I never could have expected this reaction.”

William flung his half-empty glass to the floor. “Of course not. You’ll throw us to the wolves to make your life easier. Always have, always will. What do we do now? We can’t face that many on our own.”

“Then don’t do it on your own. Spread word to the rest of the guilds. I want Alyssa humiliated by this course of action. She needs to doubt herself, her decisions, so she might trust me more. She is not in my pocket, not yet. In time she will be, I have no doubt, but until then I need your help.”

The redness gradually left William’s neck as he leaned back in his chair.

“I think I can convince the others, though I have little time. A single night to prepare a counter-ambush? Thank you for not telling me sooner. I like having to pull plans out of my ass.”

A hardness entered Arthur’s words.

“You chose this life, not me. I came here the moment Alyssa was away, now deal with it.”

They glared at one another, but finally William relented.

“So be it. But what will you do about this Watcher? He’s making life miserable for the both of us. If he left the city, then he’s certainly caught wind of our scheme, or at least part of it. A wrong word whispered to Alyssa and you’ll hang.”

“We’ll hang, you mean.”

William smirked at him.

“I live my life in the shadows. She already wants me dead, and is about to spend a fortune trying to achieve that tomorrow night. But you? You live your life in the light. The only place you can hide would be with me. Are you prepared to crawl through the gutters and eat shit to save your own ass?”

“I think I might prefer the noose.”

William stood, their conversation clearly over.

“Then you need to make sure the Watcher fucking dies.”

1

Z
usa watched the ceremony from the rooftops, her long cloak wrapped tight about her. With only a few days of warning, the crowd was smaller than it might have been. She recognized various merchants, wealthy nobles, and a few members of Connington’s distant family, plus Leon himself. All were from within Veldaren or its surrounding estates. Tradition would have expected a long enough delay for Laurie Keenan to travel from Angelport, but Alyssa seemed to care less and less about tradition with each passing day. Zusa didn’t blame her.

The bones had been placed within a small sealed coffin. As they lowered it into the ground, Alyssa stepped forward to address the crowd. She wore a dress of black and dark blues, and she’d smeared ashes upon her face. Behind her the sun dipped below the walls of the city, and in the twilight she made her decree.

“It is despicable that such a thing could happen,” she said, loud enough for Zusa to hear. “Worse that I might be expected to deny my son vengeance. So many of you here have made peace with the thieves, and in doing so, stripped away every shred of your pride and dignity. I will not! Those who prey on us, steal from us, kill and poison to claim their power, they die tonight. Go home if you must, or stay here if you fear the streets. But this night, only this night, must you fear them any longer. Veldaren aches for a purge, and I will be the one to deliver it. Cry out at me if you wish, but it will change nothing. The gold is spent, the orders are given. Let the blood flow.”

She looked to the rooftop, directly at Zusa. She nodded back in return. That was the last command. There was no turning back. Spinning about, her cloak billowing silently behind her, Zusa raced to the front of the mansion and vaulted off the roof. When she landed, it was amid the gathered group of mercenary captains, who had been ordered to wait opposite the funeral.

“You have your orders,” she told them all. “Bring the Abyss to Veldaren, and throw every cloak into it. Give vengeance to my lady.”

The captains grinned and smacked one another on the shoulder.

“About damn time,” said one. “Let’s get to it!”

Zusa left to the south, still trying to decide her course of action. The mercenaries were scattered all throughout the city, in taverns, camps, and houses of those loyal to the Trifect. They would spill out onto the streets, and no one would be there to stop them. Only King Vaelor could make a reasonable attempt with his soldiers, but he’d have to break a streak of cowardice, which Zusa knew would not happen. Ever since the Bloody Kensgold, he’d given them all freedom to kill one another so long as their threats were never aimed at him. No doubt when the nightmare began, the watch would turn the other way, if they even left the castle at all. She had an inkling they wouldn’t.

But the bloodshed would accomplish nothing if she couldn’t find Nathaniel’s killer. The Watcher. Where did he hide?

Those in the shadows were about to be flung into the light. She resolved to scour the city, keeping an eye open for anything unusual. If the Watcher were as skilled as Veliana made him sound, he would hold his own no matter how many mercenaries they flung at him.

Veliana…

She might have offered a prayer for her, but she had turned her back against her former god, Karak. She had no one to pray to, so instead she just murmured the thoughts aloud, hoping that she might survive the night. If only she could have relinquished her desire for control of the Ash Guild, she might have made a new life at her side within the Gemcroft mansion.

“Stay safe, Vel,” she said, crawling up the side of a small house with a flat roof. Once atop, she leapt across, scanning her surroundings for a man cloaked in gray and wielding twin swords. A man skilled enough to maybe even defeat her.

Half an hour passed, painfully quiet. It seemed the entire city had drawn its collective breath. Then all at once came the exhalation. Two fires erupted in southern Veldaren, both supposed headquarters of various thief guilds. Deciding there was as good a spot as any, she headed that way. She passed several patrols, and one even had the gall to fire a crossbow at her. She ducked lower and continued on, realizing she would be far from the only one to travel by rooftop that night.

They were torturing a thief in the street when she arrived at the first fire. It was probably supposed to be an interrogation, but that would have involved a chance for answers from the victim. The thief had blood smeared across his face, and the way his jaw hung, it looked like it’d been broken in multiple places. The best he could do was point. The light of the fire bathed them in red, and in it, the thief sobbed for mercy.

“This is your creation,” Zusa whispered to the distant thief, hardening her heart against the violence. “This is the fate you have earned.”

Still, it seemed a cruel fate. When the soldier impaled the thief, she was thankful. She turned for the second fire when she caught movement from the corner of her eye. She back-flipped into the air as a blade cut where she had been. Facing her attacker, she fell, grabbed the ledge of the building, and then flung herself at him. He was a giant man, his features shrouded in twilight. She slammed her knees against his chest. It was like trying to knock down an ancient oak. She rolled over his head, jumped away to give her some distance, and then drew her daggers. As her opponent whirled, she used the half-second to examine him.

He was dark-skinned, darker than she’d ever seen, and wore light clothing with a long gray cloak. He carried two enormous swords, each a length most would need two hands to hold. His muscles looked more appropriate to a woodcutter or blacksmith than a thief. But most of all, her eyes were drawn to the white paint across his face, making his shaved head look like a bleached skull.

“A woman?” he said. Zusa lunged, hoping to take advantage of his surprise. She parried one of his swords to the side, then thrust her other dagger for the opening. The man seemed prepared for the maneuver. He twisted, slapped aside her thrust, and stepped closer. She tried leaping back to gain more distance, but he followed, trapping her at the edge of the roof. Falling to one knee, she tried to hamstring him, but again his swords were there, batting the far smaller weapons aside. Part of her wondered why, with such advantage in reach, he forced them to remain in close combat.

Then one of his swords fell, and he felt a hand grab her hair, each finger as thick as a sausage. Her feet lifted off the roof. She held in a scream, all her focus narrowed to a razor edge. Her daggers swung, both aiming for his neck. With only one weapon, he had no chance to block, at least she thought, but he used its flat edge to strike both her wrists as they thrust, pushing them over his head. Before she could bring her arms back down, the sword’s edge pressed against her throat.

“Stop struggling,” he said. “I’m not here to kill you.”

His voice was deep, so deep, it reminded her of the rare times she’d heard Karak whisper to her in the night. She forced herself to calm, to look into his brown eyes without flinching. The sword pressed tighter against her throat, as if he expected her to try and break free instead.

“What do you want?” she asked.

“Not you,” said the man. “My target is not a woman. I might have said so if you hadn’t leapt at me like a rabid dog.”

“Who are you?”

He stared at her, as if deciding something. Decision made, he unceremoniously dropped her. She landed on her feet and crouched before him, ready to leap at the slightest wrong move.

“I am Ghost. I’ve come to claim the Watcher’s head, and other than the breasts, you fit the description rather closely.”

Zusa slowly straightened, though her muscles remained tense. Whoever this Ghost was, she had no intention of relaxing in his presence.

“Who is it that has hired you?” she asked. “One of the thieves?”

He grinned at her. Something about it worsened her unease.

“I cannot tell you, as surely you can understand. You seem at home in the night, and you move as I expected the Watcher to move. Do you know of him? Tell me, and I might make it worth your while.”

“Whatever I know, I cannot say, for I seek him as my own bounty. My master wishes to be the one to claim his life, and I would not dare risk cheating her of it.”

“Her?” asked Ghost, raising an eyebrow.

Too much, stop speaking, you always say too much.

So she smiled, hoping to convince him that it wasn’t a slip of a tongue, instead a purposeful decision to make him wonder if she spoke truth or not. He probably didn’t buy it, but it was still worth the attempt.

“So be it,” Ghost said. One of his swords shifted, she moved to jump, but then he saluted her with the blade. “A game, then. I will let you search unimpeded, but I expect the same courtesy of you. If you somehow find him first...all I asked is that you come to me at the Mug and Feather tavern so I may know your name. Any lady more skilled in tracking than I is a lady I would sorely wish to meet with again. Consider it a repayment of my generosity.”

“The generosity of a man who nearly stabbed my back before seeing my face to confirm a kill?”

Ghost laughed. “You are still alive, woman. That alone is proof of my generosity.”

The way he said it, with no anger or pride, only amusement, chilled Zusa’s blood. This was a man with whom death was a common companion, who believed himself having nothing to prove. If such an agreement kept her safe from his blades…

“I accept,” she said. “Now forgive me, but I have a man to find.”

“Good luck,” he said. “Oh, and stay safe. I hear there’s a lot of mercenaries out searching for people like you.”

She looked to the fire behind her, and the several corpses left there to rot in the street. When she looked back, Ghost was gone. No one that big should be able to move so silently, she thought, but it seemed she was wrong. Cursing herself, she hurried north, following the distant cries of battle. If she were lucky, they might still scare out the Watcher, but now she wondered if she truly had any hope of finding him before Ghost. How great would Alyssa’s anger be if she found out Ghost had captured him first?

Still, that was better than them finding him at the same time. However that confrontation might end, she knew her blood would be spilled.

*

T
he city had gone to the Abyss. There was no other way to describe the horrors Haern watched as he hurried along the streets, keeping his head down and his swords hidden. It was too dangerous to remain on the rooftops. Every mercenary with a bow was firing at whatever moved. He’d counted four fires the last time he’d found a quiet enough spot to scale a wall and look over the city. Madness, total madness. Was this what it’d been like when his father first declared war against the Trifect so long ago?

The mercenaries traveled in squads, some as large as a hundred. They roamed the streets, smashing in doors, dragging out scared owners to ask questions, demand names, and sometimes execute outright. He watched a group of three thieves, Spiders based on their cloaks, chased by twenty men in armor. They died when a second group cut them off, another ten with naked blades and eager eyes. The mercenaries left only pieces of the three. Pieces.

Because he lacked guild colors and appeared the beggar, he’d managed to avoid much of their ire. He’d been questioned twice. The first time he feigned deafness. The second time he pointed them on their way toward the headquarters of the Serpent Guild. While following them, he watched a couple dragged out of bed, the husband hollering, his wife holding blankets to her chest to hide her nakedness. While their children watched from the doorway, the mercenaries cut their throats and cheered the name of Alyssa Gemcroft as if she were a goddess of blood and murder.

All the while, the city guards remained nowhere to be found.

Haern ducked through a side alley, not surprised to find two more there with him. They wore the colors of the Hawks, and they drew daggers as he rushed by. He wished them luck, out of nothing more than professional courtesy. Part of him wondered how many would abandon their cloaks. Doing so was considered punishable by death. Still, it seemed the only way to survive. Of course, he’d seen plenty without cloaks or colors dying in the street. Perhaps all it’d take was a single man whispering your name to find yourself in the arms of sellswords…