A Dance of Chaos

by David Dalglish

  “Is this your first time going out since…?”

  “Yeah,” Haern said, interrupting his question. “It is.”

  Tarlak chuckled.

  “Had a hunch. Delysia’s waiting for you outside. Make sure you say good-bye to her beforehand, all right? You’re the King’s Watcher. That means showing my sister some manners.”

  Haern smiled, and he felt a bit of his nervousness ebbing. He put his hand on the wizard’s shoulder, squeezed it tightly.

  “Every time I’ve needed you, you’ve been there for me,” he said. “I just want to thank you for that, Tar.”

  “Most welcome. Now get out there and do your job.”

  Haern nodded, descended the stairs.

  “At Veldaren, I mean,” Tarlak shouted after him, eliciting a chuckle from Haern.

  As Tarlak had said, Delysia waited for him outside the door to the tower, arms crossed and a smirk on her face. She looked almost golden in the light of the setting sun.

  “Is this going to become a regular thing?” he asked her as he shut the door behind him.

  “I doubt it,” she said. “You overestimate my patience if you think I’ll be waiting for you every single night just to say good-bye.”

  Haern laughed, hoping to hide his own nervousness with good humor. It felt like there were a hundred things they had yet to discuss, and part of him wondered if he would ever tell her what had happened between him and Zusa. Doing so could hurt her, but keeping it silent made it feel like every moment with her was a lie. He didn’t know how to reconcile it, didn’t know what was right, and he hated how it left him awkward and silent. Perhaps it would grow easier as the memory faded, no different from that of Ghost’s death.

  “Just let me pretend you miss me that much every time I go,” Haern said, forcing a smile to his lips. “Surely it can’t be that far from the truth.”

  She smiled, one just as forced as his own. Trying to guess the reason, he assumed it had to do with his returning to his duties as the Watcher, and he did his best to head off any worries.

  “I’ll be all right,” he told her. “Tonight’s a night like any other.”

  “That’s a lie, and we both know it.”

  So it was about his safety. He fought down a sigh. He could battle Thren Felhorn as well as the Darkhand, yet still she’d fear for his safety?

  “If it will make you feel better, I’ll remain low for a while, try not to get into any real skirmishes.”

  “That’s not what worries me,” she said. “You’re going back to being the Watcher. What does that mean? After everything you went through a week ago…”

  Haern stepped closer, and he found himself unable to meet her eye as he spoke.

  “Whatever drives me, it’s more than just peace for this city,” he said. “I could have had that, if I wanted it. I could have become everything my father desired … but that’s not who I ever wish to become. Who I am, who I choose to be … it has to mean something. It has to make all these sacrifices worthwhile. And I do know who it is I wish to be. I finally do.”

  He crossed his arms, uncrossed them, feeling so naked, so exposed, but he had to say it. He had to tell her, if only so he might silence the guilt eating at the back of his mind.

  “I once asked you to be my rock, to be there so I knew who I was. That was wrong of me, Del. I never should have put the burden of my confusion and failures on your shoulders. That was nothing but cowardice. I want you to know that I ask nothing of you now. I ask nothing, expect nothing…”

  Delysia grabbed the front of his shirt, yanked him close, and shut him up with a kiss.

  “My love is a gift,” she said. “And you don’t need to ask for it, because it’s already yours.”

  “But the risks I take, the battles … death will come for me, Del. Knowing that, how can I be so selfish and cruel? I never wanted to hurt you, and never wish to again.”

  Delysia wrapped her arms about him, holding him close.

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said softly. “Wherever you go, I will always be waiting. If you should die, I’ll wait, and I’ll pray, and I’ll look for your face when Ashhur takes me home. I’m scared of losing you, but I won’t let that fear cost me the time we have together.”

  Haern smiled down at her, and he felt tears building in his eyes.

  “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he said.

  “You’d only miss me for a little while,” she said, standing on her toes so she might kiss his forehead. “And even then, I promise, I’ll be waiting. Now go and stalk the shadows, Watcher of Veldaren. You have a city that needs you.”

  Haern hugged her again, and he could not believe the relief he felt.

  “Thank you,” he whispered.

  Gently separating their bodies, he pulled his hood low over his face and adjusted his cloaks.

  “Safe travels, Watcher,” she said, turning to leave. “I’ll be here when you return.”

  “Always?” he asked her.

  “Always.”

  With her smile in mind, he ran to the city, ran to the rooftops and the dark alleys that were his comfort, his battlefield, his home.

  The very first time she’d entered the Gemcroft mansion, Zusa had rescued Alyssa from the cold prison built beneath. Now, as the rows of servants, soldiers, and wagons rolled out, she felt she had rescued Alyssa once again, not just from her mansion, but from the whole damn city of Veldaren. It had been a prison far more encompassing, and far harder to escape, but Zusa was determined to make this freedom last. The city of thieves and murderers would not control them anymore. It’d taken weeks of planning, shifting trade agreements and policies, appointing various stewards who would remain in the city, none of whom would have enough power to become a potential threat …

  “Zusa!”

  She turned, saw Nathaniel calling out to her from the seat beside his mother in their carriage, beckoning her.

  “Will you join us?”

  Zusa smiled at him, and normally she would have, but she’d caught a familiar face lurking on a nearby rooftop, so instead she remained at the front door of the mansion, cupped her hands on either side of her mouth, and shouted back.

  “I will soon enough! Keep your mother company for me.”

  Nathaniel beamed and bobbed his head in answer before snuggling closer to his mother. The sight warmed Zusa’s heart. It’d taken days before Nathaniel had shown any sign of recovering from whatever he’d endured at the western gate. Karak had been involved, that was all Zusa had gleaned, and the knowledge soured her stomach. But upon learning they’d be moving to Riverrun, abandoning their family home in Veldaren, the boy had steadily improved. Truth be told, he acted like a great weight had been removed from his shoulders, and he was hardly the only one who’d had that reaction.

  As the great caravan rolled west, Zusa calmly walked to the end of the property, locked the iron gate behind her, and then crossed the street. Curling around to the side of a building, she easily climbed up, finding the Watcher waiting for her on the slanted rooftop. He smiled at her from underneath his hood, then gestured to the caravan.

  “I heard the rumors, not that I believed them,” he said while crouched at the rooftop’s edge. “I thought Veldaren was Alyssa’s city?”

  “If this city belongs to anyone, it’s you,” Zusa said, smiling. “Lady Gemcroft has finally decided the safety of her family is more important than putting up a powerful facade. We’re leaving this sick, rotten city. If Nathaniel wants to return when he comes of age, so be it. Until then, we’ll live in Riverrun.”

  Haern nodded as he watched the train of people and wagons roll on. Zusa sensed he was uncomfortable. Hardly surprising. They’d yet to speak of their night together. She’d been terribly vulnerable, and perhaps it had been the same way for him. Given the shadows across his face, hidden even in the midday light, she had a feeling Haern was not one used to letting his guard down.

  “Zusa,” he said, still not looking at her. “About last time we…”


  She grabbed his hand and shushed him.

  “You gave me comfort when I needed it,” she said. “Let it remain just that, and nothing more.”

  Except it had been more, and she almost said so, but it was not what he wanted to hear. He looked down at her hand holding his, then cupped it with his other before he stood.

  “There’s someone I think I love,” he said. “She’s gentle, good at heart … but given this brutal life I lead, the risks it’d bring her just by being with me…” He tilted his head at her, laughing to reveal his embarrassment. “It’s sad, but you’re the only person I know to talk about this with. Am I a fool to hope for some sort of happiness? Is it selfish of me to endanger her so?”

  Zusa used her free hand to slowly pull back his hood to reveal his handsome face, his square jaw, his beautiful blue eyes. She wanted to see him like that one more time, to have a face to remember instead of his low hood and shadowed visage. Standing on her toes, she gently kissed his lips, then pulled back so she might meet his gaze.

  “You’re a kind, wonderful man,” she told him. “Be with who you love, and damn any fear that keeps you apart. You deserve happiness in this life, Watcher. We all do.”

  That said, she pulled away from him and turned her attention to the Gemcroft caravan.

  “I have a family to be with,” she said. “I trust you’ll handle Veldaren well enough while I’m gone?”

  “I’ll do what I can,” he said, smiling at her. “And Zusa … thank you.”

  Pulling his hood back over his head, he climbed to the apex of the rooftop and then slid down from view. Zusa watched him go, and she wondered if she’d made a mistake in not telling him.

  Down to the street she climbed, then ran to join Alyssa and Nathaniel in their wagon.

  That night the three of them gathered around a campfire in the heart of the circle of wagons. Veldaren was a glowing candle in the distance, and the atmosphere was one of celebration. Alyssa had ordered several kegs opened, and her servants and soldiers drank themselves stupid. Zusa smiled amid the revelry, soaking in the joy despite feeling ill herself.

  “You’re going to love Riverrun,” Alyssa told Nathaniel, who sat next to her, chomping on a chicken leg. “There are rows of falls, each with deep pools between them, that you can just dive and swim…”

  “Does the boy know how to swim?” Zusa asked.

  “I’m right here,” Nathaniel said. “And yes, the boy does know how to swim.”

  “My apologies,” Zusa said, dipping her head. “Next time, I will ask the boy directly.”

  He glared, but it was comical, overemphasized, and she laughed. That laughter quickly ended as she felt her stomach shifting, suddenly and with little warning. Turning aside, she let out a single cough before she vomited up much of her meal. The smell was awful, the taste of the greasy meat coming back up her throat no better. She coughed again, trying to recover her breath.

  “Are you sick?” Nathaniel asked, and Zusa smiled despite the silliness of the question.

  “With nothing you can catch,” she told him.

  “All right, it’s late,” Alyssa said, tapping Nathaniel on the back. “Go on and get to bed. We have an early start tomorrow.”

  Nathaniel kissed his mother’s cheek, then wandered off toward the tent the servants had erected for him. Alyssa remained behind at the fire, glass eyes staring at Zusa from across it. Zusa wondered what she was thinking, how she might react.

  “I remember my sickness when I carried Nathaniel, and it wasn’t always in the morning,” she said. “How long have you known?”

  For a brief moment Zusa thought to lie, a ridiculous notion given how quickly it’d be found out. Stare locked on the fire, she felt strangely nervous and embarrassed as she answered.

  “Not long,” she said. “Two weeks ago my blood never came.”

  Alyssa rose from her seat, walked around the fire, and then sat cross-legged beside her. She leaned forward, hands clasped. No judgment. No anger. Just concentration.

  “Do you know who the father is?” she asked.

  Zusa nodded, said nothing.

  “Will you tell him?”

  It was the one question that had been raging in her mind for weeks. Zusa looked up, mind finally made, heart finally ready. Would she tell him? Would she add another burden to an already burdened man? Reaching out, she grabbed Alyssa’s hands, gripped them tightly as she met her gaze and gave her answer.

  A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

  Well, that’s it. Six books finished, and if you’ve made it this far, I’d like to think they all did something right to keep you reading to the very end. I’m not going to pretend it went as I expected it all to go, and there were plenty of characters (Ghost and Zusa in particular) who threw me for several loops along the way. I guess that’s part of the fun, and the reason you go on the journey in the first place, right?

  To those of you who have read the Half-Orc series, know that I did my best to keep continuity intact, but if there are any breaks or changes, treat this as the definitive version of that first battle in The Weight of Blood. The same goes for the fight in The Cost of Betrayal between Thren and Haern. Consider the ending confrontation here in Chapter 33 (and to a lesser extent, the final relationship between Haern and Delysia) to be what I’ve always felt these characters deserved. Hopefully they’re also far more satisfying to you longtime readers than what I delivered in the Half-Orcs. I guess I’d also be remiss if I didn’t at least address the potential question of “What the heck was up with the prophet?” The answer is in the Half-Orc books. I’ll try to just leave it at that.

  Anyway, after Thren and Haern tore into each other near the end of the last book, having their confrontation finally come to a head here was awesome. Brutal, and there might have been a few tears in this writer’s eyes, but still awesome. No matter all he had gone through, a piece of Aaron Felhorn still remains, still wishing to be loved by his father. I’ve always thought of Thren as a monster, and there at the end, he finally reveals just how terrible a monster he really is. It’s a scene I have had in my head for years now, a scene I was terrified I would fail to make as powerful as it was in my own imagination. God I hope I pulled it off.

  As for the ending … to stave off the (likely many) e-mails I’m sure to get: yes, I do have plans to use that twist sometime far down the road. No, I make absolutely no promises as to how and when we might eventually get to see Haern and Zusa’s child, nor in what manner, nor in what series. This is me leaving the door open the tiniest crack, just in case I ever decide to return. I hope you’ll forgive me for taking the luxury while I have the chance.

  Real quick obligatory thanks. Thank you, Devi, for being a fantastic editor throughout all six books, helping me shape this series while also never letting me forget how much room for improvement there is in all aspects. Thank you, Michael, for handling all the publishing stuff so I don’t have to. Thank you, Rob, for listening to my rambling phone calls as I debate what the heck to do with Zusa or Alyssa.

  Last, but certainly not least, I want to thank you, dear readers. Three-quarters of a million words later, you’re still here with me. For such an investment of your time, I hope I have given you an exciting journey. I hope I’ve given you characters you cherish, characters whom, whether they lived or died, you’ll remember for a long time after setting this book down and moving on to another. You came into my world, asking to be entertained, and I hope I repaid that privilege well with a damn fine story.

  I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again—I’m living a dream, and it’s because of you. There’s no way I can thank you enough. But just because I can’t, doesn’t mean I won’t try. So, from the bottom of my heart:

  Thank you.

  David Dalglish

  July 2, 2014

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  A DANCE OF CHAOS

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  Raven’s
Shadow: Book One

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  Anthony Ryan

  VERNIERS’ ACCOUNT

  He had many names. Although yet to reach his thirtieth year, history had seen fit to bestow upon him titles aplenty: Sword of the Realm to the mad king who sent him to plague us, the Young Hawk to the men who followed him through the trials of war, Darkblade to his Cumbraelin enemies and, as I was to learn much later, Beral Shak Ur to the enigmatic tribes of the Great Northern Forest – the Shadow of the Raven.

  But my people knew him by only one name and it was this that sang in my head continually the morning they brought him to the docks: Hope Killer. Soon you will die and I will see it. Hope Killer.

  Although he was certainly taller than most men, I was surprised to find that, contrary to the tales I had heard, he was no giant, and whilst his features were strong they could hardly be called handsome. His frame was muscular but not possessed of the massive thews described so vividly by the storytellers. The only aspect of his appearance to match his legend was his eyes: black as jet and piercing as a hawk’s. They said his eyes could strip a man’s soul bare, that no secret could be hidden if he met your gaze. I had never believed it but seeing him now, I could see why others would.

  The prisoner was accompanied by a full company of the Imperial Guard, riding in close escort, lances ready, hard eyes scanning the watching crowd for trouble. The crowd, however, were silent. They stopped to stare at him as he rode through, but there were no shouts, no insults or missiles hurled. I recalled that they knew this man, for a brief time he had ruled their city and commanded a foreign army within its walls, yet I saw no hate in their faces, no desire for vengeance. Mostly they seemed curious. Why was he here? Why was he alive at all?

  The company reined in on the wharf, the prisoner dismounting to be led to the waiting vessel. I put my notes away and rose from my resting place atop a spice barrel, nodding at the captain. ‘Honour to you, sir.’