Deathmask bowed low in greeting. “Forgive me if I inconvenienced you,” he said. When he pulled up from his bow, there was a sparkle in his red eye. “And I have no intention of taking you against your will. No, I hope that this time you’ll come with me willingly, and with all your soldiers too.”
“What are you talking about? Speak plainly.”
Deathmask looked to be in no hurry, and he calmly paced before Victor, tapping his lips with a finger.
“I’m sure you know much of Veldaren’s guilds, but what about elsewhere? Say… Mordeina?”
Victor shook his head. “I must profess ignorance in this.”
“And other things as well,” Deathmask said, grin growing. “But then let me remove your ignorance. There is a guild in Mordeina known as the Suns. Over the past few years they’ve spread their influence, first into Ker, then Omn, and now they’ve set their eye on Neldar. They’re coming here, into Veldaren, so they might strike at the heart of this nation before branching out like a disease.”
Victor frowned, not liking what he was hearing. “Are you afraid of losing some profit, thief?” he asked.
“Don’t be naïve. Veldaren is already spiraling out of control, and the Suns will destroy things completely. They won’t rest until every guild, mine included, is wiped out.”
“So far I don’t see much reason to hate them.”
A bit of amusement left Deathmask’s eyes.
“Enough, Victor. You know as well as I that the guilds here are weak. The midnight executions had stopped… well, before you came back, anyway. All the poisoning and assassinations have calmed. The Trifect pay us their sum, we sell drugs and women and take paltry sums of protection money. It’s a balance, a nice one really, like the one Thren should have kept fourteen years ago instead of letting his greed cause the thief war in the first place. Point is, what we have is acceptable. These guilds here, they’re guilds you know, guilds you can manipulate and control. But not the Suns. This is not some distant threat, nor someone that will bow to the Trifect or pay heed to the Watcher. They’ve come to conquer… and they’re already within our walls.”
Information he’d received the day before suddenly clicked, and Victor felt a pit grow in his stomach.
“The cheap crimleaf,” he said. “I’ve heard of the bottoming out of prices. The new dealer… that’s them, isn’t it?”
“They’ve started with crimleaf,” Deathmask said. “But they’ll soon bring other leaves and powders far worse. Have your men not found the bodies all across the southern district? War’s begun, so far silent but for their hiring of the Bloodcrafts. Each day the Sun Guild’s numbers grow, and not just from the west. Members of Veldaren’s guilds can sense the coming tide, and they’re abandoning their old allegiances for the new. When every single street in this city bears the mark of the Sun, what hope do you think you have to accomplish your goal? You’ll face a united force, one you can’t strike at, for its money and wealth come not from here, but from far to the west. They’ll attack anyone they wish, and make no treaties until they accomplish their goal of domination. They’re your twin, Victor, only instead of freeing Veldaren they’d have it enslaved. And your stubborn pride may very well let them win.”
Victor shifted, leaning more of his weight against the wall. He tried to think, to understand what it meant. Slowly he was bleeding the guilds dry of both members and coin. He might succeed, too, but only a fool would think someone else wouldn’t try to fill the void. If the Suns were as dangerous as Deathmask claimed…
He looked up at the thief. “What is it you desire of me?” he asked.
Deathmask pulled a cloth from his pocket and tied it across his face. “Help me,” he said, his other hand pulling out a handful of ash. “Swallow your pride, and send your soldiers flooding into the Suns’ newly acquired territory. We’ll crush them here, now, before they gain more than a foothold. I know where they’re hiding, and I can lead your men right to them.”
With a wave of a hand, the ash scattered about Deathmask’s face, then hovered there, hiding his features.
“The city is mine,” he said. “But I am a kinder lord than the Suns will ever be, and unlike them, I possess a sense of humor. Do not doubt your decision, not in this.”
Victor closed his eyes, thought of the carnage he’d seen the day prior while being protected by the Eschaton. The Bloodcrafts were the worst of everything, men and women with strength that made his own armored soldiers look like children by comparison. The amount of dead he could pin on those mercenaries alone was significant. And if the Sun Guild was willing to bring in such reckless murderers…
“You’re sure the Sun Guild hired the Bloodcrafts?” he asked.
“I’m sure of it,” said Deathmask. “If not for them, I’d have already crushed their initial push into the city.”
Victor shook his head. Veldaren was already in dire shape, but the Sun Guild’s arrival only threatened to ruin everything he’d begun. Crushing the current guilds, only to allow them to be replaced… what sense did that make?
With a sigh he looked to Deathmask, watched the ash swirl around his face. Deathmask was one of the monsters, men who wielded power far greater than they deserved. But Victor now faced many such men, and as the guilds grew desperate, whom else would they turn to? Perhaps, to succeed, he needed his own stable of monsters…
“I’ll help you,” he said. “But know that I will watch you closely, and do this only for the good of the city.”
“The good of the city.” Deathmask chuckled. “How quaint.”
He whistled, and the rest of his guild appeared from farther up the street, approaching in their similar colors.
Monsters, thought Victor as they gathered. You said you’d protect me from the monsters, Watcher. But what if I turn the monsters on each other, and let them slay themselves?
“Ready your men,” Deathmask said. “It’s time for a slaughter.”
Victor left without a word, trying to not think about the company he kept, or about the bloodshed to commence. The peace at the end was all that mattered, he told himself. The final victory. The safe streets and unviolated homes.
“Milord?” asked Sef at his return to the tavern’s rear alley.
“Prepare our men to move out,” he said.
“Milord, something troubles you, I can tell. What…”
“I said prepare them to move out!”
Sef took a step back, then bowed low. “Forgive me,” he said.
Victor sighed, put a hand on the man’s shoulder. “No,” he said. “You’ve done much for me, and now I must ask for more. Prepare them all. A new threat has entered our city, and we must crush it while we still have the chance.”
Sef tensed as the Ash Guild came around the corner of the tavern, weapons drawn and shimmering with magic. Victor shook his head and motioned for his soldiers to stand down.
“I do this with a heavy heart,” he said, pointing to Deathmask. “But it must be done. Follow this man’s lead. Once more into the underworld we go.”
Beneath the ash and cloth, Deathmask’s smile grew.
CHAPTER
31
Earlier that morning, Haern met with the rest of the Eschaton Mercenaries on the bottom floor of their tower and outlined his plan. It went about as well as he’d expected.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Tarlak said, shaking his head. “That Nicholas guy alone nearly killed all of us, and it took everything we had to chase them off during their last ambush. Now you want to go charging into a fight with them head on?”
Haern shrugged. “If we’re going to fight, I’d rather us be the ones doing the ambushing. Or would you prefer we wait for them to come to our tower while we sleep, or assault me when I’m alone upon the rooftops?”
“They’ve made their intentions clear,” Delysia said, taking her brother’s hand. “They’ll kill us no matter what it takes. You saw the bodies. How many innocents they killed.”
“I say we do it,” Brug said
, hopping up from his chair. “I’ll get my armor.”
“You’re in agreement with this insane scheme too?” Tarlak asked.
Brug shrugged. “What? I killed one of them already. Nothing says I can’t do it again.”
Haern grinned at his friend. “That’s more like it,” he said. “So what will it be, Tarlak? Ready for us to go on the offensive for once?”
Tarlak lifted his hat and scratched the back of his head. “That means I’ll have to face that one lady throwing all the fire, won’t I?”
“Probably.”
“Fine.” A devilish grin spread over his face, removing his pout. “But this time I’m not going in blind. Come on, Brug, I’ll need your help with this.”
Over the day they prepared, and then, before nightfall, Haern led them back to the tavern. He felt confident the Bloodcrafts were like most thieves, sleeping during the day and going out at night. And if not, well, then the Eschaton would catch them sleeping. Hardly the most honorable kill, thought Haern, but he’d dealt worse punishments than that.
The tavern was at the corner of Iron, a major trade route heading north to south through Veldaren, and Raven, a far smaller dirt road that jutted off into the remnants of homes, most of which had been shuttered as the wealth traveled steadily north over the past decade. Haern watched the entrance from an alley on the opposite side of Iron. This gave him a wide view of the tavern, as well as the positions of the rest of the Eschaton.
Tarlak waited atop the baker’s shop beside the tavern. Haern could not see him, for he’d cast a lengthy spell of invisibility upon himself before climbing up. The wizard directly faced the windows of the room in question, and precautions were necessary for such close proximity. Brug and Delysia were up Raven Street, so that if anyone fled away from Tarlak and Haern they’d be there to intercept. No exits went unwatched, no pathways unprotected. None of them liked the potential for collateral damage, but the ambush was set, and at least no innocent families would be butchered, as when the Bloodcrafts had prepared their own ambush.
Time passed, and Haern felt his nerves start to fray. Slowly the sun fell behind the wall.
“Come on,” Haern whispered. “Come on, come on.”
The sky turned red, then purple, and then at last the stars winked into existence one by one. Still no sign. With every passing moment, Haern knew something was wrong. No doubt the rest of his friends were as anxious as he. Maybe he should call the ambush off, or try to sneak into the Bloodcrafts’ room to confirm…
It was only instinct that saved him. He saw a flash of something high above, a shadow that didn’t feel quite right, and without thinking he dove to the side. Down fell a man in a red leather coat, long sword slamming the ground where he’d been. Haern pulled out of his roll, sabers drawn, but his attacker remained back. Surprise gone, he seemed in no hurry.
“Hello, Watcher,” said the man. He was middle-aged, handsome, with dark hair cut short. Haern tensed. He’d crossed swords with him once already, and been stunned by his near-inhuman speed.
“I’d greet you in return,” Haern said, “but I don’t know your name.”
The man grinned. “Carson Bloodcraft. Consider me honored to meet you a second time. Few have the skill to match blades against me and live.”
“I could say the same.”
Carson chuckled. “Indeed. Let me make this quick, Watcher. We knew you’d come for us after our last ambush, and we have prepared one of our own. We know where your friends are, all of them. Yes, even the wizard foolish enough to think we couldn’t see through a simple invisibility spell. With but a signal, they’ll attack.”
The man was too confident, the tone of his voice and pull of his smile too consistent. No lie. Tarlak, Delysia, Brug… they were all in danger.
“What do you want?” Haern asked, subtly tightening the muscles in his legs for a leap. “Do you wish to mock me before you try to kill me?”
Carson shook his head. “Our mission is to eliminate you as a threat, Watcher. This can be done a lot of ways. But you see, your mercenaries killed two of our members, which leaves us with some openings. Your skill is incredible. With your reputation and your abilities, you’d make a fine addition to the Bloodcrafts.”
Carson stood, held his sword out to the side. Something sparkled in his brown eyes, and it made Haern’s head ache.
“What do you say to that? Leave this pathetic group you serve. Whatever coin they pay you, I promise we can increase it tenfold. They only hold you back.”
Haern took a single step, just enough to shift his weight so he might leap with greater speed. Carson saw it, and he held his sword before his chest.
“If you agree, we’ll leave the rest of your group alive. Decline, well… you’re still a threat needing to be dealt with. Make a choice, Watcher, but do us both a favor… make the intelligent one. You’re too good to be weighed down with petty morality and friendships.”
Despite the danger, Haern let out a laugh. “You think I do this for the coin?” he asked. “You damn fool. Give your signal. We’ll see who dies tonight.”
It was a bold bluster, a way to keep the fear for his friends hidden. He had to trust them, trust his own ability to finish off Carson in time to help the others. Carson shook his head, looking disappointed.
“Despite the loss of such potential, I’m glad you refuse,” he said. Something about his voice changed, as if he were suddenly hurrying his words. “You killed my daughter, Watcher. I’ll make sure you suffer greatly for that.”
His free hand lifted, and when he made to snap his fingers Haern lunged at him, sabers leading. Sword a blur, Carson parried both to the side, then shifted so his elbow slammed into Haern’s chest as he came crashing in. Breath lost, Haern swung twice in a futile attempt to keep the man on the defensive while he fell back, gasping for air. Carson parried the swings with ease, holding his sword with a single hand. His movements showed no slowing, no panic. He didn’t even look as if he were breathing hard.
He can’t be that good, Haern thought, trying to decide his next attack pattern. I’ve fought Thren, the Wraith, Dieredon… he can’t be greater than them.
During his indecision, Carson snapped his fingers, then winked.
“Time for some fun,” he said, again in that clipped, rapid speech, and then on the other side of the street the roof of the bakery erupted in flame. Before Haern could react, Carson stepped in, sword slashing. Haern blocked, a fraction of a second away from missing. He kept his swords out wide, using the only advantage he had. No matter where Carson thrust or slashed, Haern had a blade ready, just a flick of a wrist away from parrying. Not that it mattered. Carson thrust, looped his sword around, thrust again. When Haern tried to parry the second thrust, Carson batted both sabers aside as if Haern were a child. The tip of his sword continued unabated, piercing Haern’s shoulder.
Rolling away before it could punch deeper, Haern fell to one knee, fighting off the urge to clutch the wound with a hand. His sabers shook in his grip as blood ran down the front of his shirt.
How? Haern wondered. How can he be that fast?
Carson stepped closer, and in desperation Haern employed his most skillful delay. Spinning, he grabbed his cloaks and flung them into the air, turning faster and faster so that his movements were a blur, the location of his hands and swords undecipherable to any but the most skilled. It should have worked, but Carson only shook his head as if disappointed. Something felt wrong. Haern noticed it just before Carson attacked, undeterred by his cloakdance. The cloaks were hanging lower than they should have, seemingly falling faster than usual, unable to maintain momentum.
Flinging himself back, Haern realized what was wrong. It wasn’t that Carson was moving faster. It was that he was moving slower. While the magic affected him, it did nothing to the cloaks. All his senses were dulled, delayed. The rapid speech, he realized. Even his hearing was affected. The delay didn’t appear to be great, just enough to sap away his greatest advantage.
Carson sta
lked closer, unworried about Haern’s sudden retreat. And why would he be? Could Haern get away while running as if pushing through molasses? Forcing himself to stay calm, he continued his backward retreat. High above, smoke blotted out the stars, the result of the fire that continued to burn. Heavy concussion sounds rocked the building. It sounded like Tarlak was still alive, but for how long?
“Have you given up already?” Carson asked, steadily approaching. “You’ve yet to make me break a sweat. You fought so well earlier… what happened, Watcher? To think you beat Joanna is insulting.”
What had happened? He’d fought Carson and the dagger thrower simultaneously. Yes, he’d been pushed to the limit, but still he’d endured. What was different now? What slowed him so?
“Come,” Carson said. “Look me in the eye so I can see your fear as you die.”
The eye…
Haern stared into those brown orbs, and again he felt an ache grow in his forehead. Tarlak’s words echoed in his ears.
I’d call it cheating…
Something about Carson’s gaze, be it spell or hypnotism, was digging into him, pooling in his mind. Haern looked down, forced himself to watch Carson’s hands and hands only. Normally he might read a man’s face to gauge his tension, to watch for tells and signs of impatience. But not now. Gaze low, Haern breathed in deep. He didn’t know how the spell or hypnotism worked, or how long it might last, but he had to endure until the effects waned. The first time he and Carson had fought, Haern had had his attention split between two opponents, no doubt weakening the effect. If he could survive then, he could survive now. He had to.
Carson stepped close, and he repeatedly thrust for Haern’s chest, pulling back every time Haern tried to parry. Haern watched, more and more aware of the sluggishness of his reactions. He felt robbed of speed, robbed of strength.
“What’s the matter, Watcher?” Carson asked. Haern noticed the strange, hurried aspect of his voice was not quite so prominent.
A Dance of Shadows Page 33