Dancer's Lament: Path to Ascendancy Book 1

by Ian C. Esslemont

Rheena laughed. ‘You can be sure he’s heard! Everything gets reported. He has informants everywhere.’

  Dorin was quiet for a time. In truth, he hadn’t considered that. The man may even have paid informants and spies among Urquart’s gang. Good thing none of them had ever seen him – except Rafall. Now that he was seeing more of the world, reflecting on Tran’s leadership, or pathetic lack thereof, it occurred to him that such shortcomings might not be all that rare in every walk of life – especially those of the black market and thievery. Individuals who had failed at every other calling, or proved themselves appallingly unreliable, tended to tumble down into the alleyways of the night market as their last option: the addicts, the hopelessly indebted, the serial liars, the foolish, the deluded, the lazy, and the just plain dim.

  The grim reality on the street was proving far removed from the jongleurs’ and troubadours’ tales of roguish grinning thieves with hearts of gold. It was a calling, he decided, far too romanticized, and in actual truth full of damaged broken people. And, in the end, in no way admirable. Just rather shabby, seedy, sad – and violent.

  And what did that say about him? Here Dorin clenched his jaws and let a hard breath out of his nose. He was no thief. He’d never stolen anything. He’d picked up a few things from that ruined merchants’ caravan, but they’d been dead. He was paid for his talents. It was not a job or work. It was his calling. He realized, then, that he didn’t even consider what he did business. Rheena and these others, he knew, were in it for the coin. They wanted to get rich. Preferably as quickly and easily as possible.

  Money, however, held no fascination for him. He was a craftsman. He was interested only in the perfection of his skills.

  In silence, they reached the wharf. Torches and lanterns on poles lit the waterfront. Rheena led, walking past barge after barge until she reached the one that not coincidentally was the boat with the largest gang of crew hanging about. Here an older, bearded and pot-bellied fellow sauntered over, pointing a finger. ‘Late as usual, Red.’

  ‘Busy, Bruneth,’ she replied, airily.

  ‘Busy my arse. You don’t even know what work is.’ The fellow cast an eye over Shreth, Loor, and lastly Dorin. He snorted his disbelief. ‘If it ain’t mister famous knife thrower. Where we’re going none of your fancy-pants tricks are gonna impress anyone, okay?’

  Dorin raised an eyebrow. Rheena waved Bruneth off and jumped down to the barge, sat back against a crate, and stretched out her legs. ‘So let’s get going.’

  Bruneth grumbled darkly into his beard, but waved to the lounging crew. The lines were slipped, poles unshipped, and the barge started downriver with the slow current.

  Shreth and Loor produced a set of dice and set to whiling away the time. Members of the crew, all Tran’s men and women, drifted over to join them. Rheena had closed her eyes, apparently dozing, or making a great show of it to impress everyone. Bruneth had gone to stand next to the man handling the broad tiller oar at the rear of the barge. Curious, Dorin walked the narrow aisles between the piled crates and barrels of cargo.

  Some had been carelessly broken open, perhaps by Bruneth’s people, to verify their contents. Dorin looked in and was surprised to see bundled arrows, weapons, coils of rope, and military supplies and materiel. The barrels held salted meat and other such preserved foodstuffs.

  Dorin went to Rheena, touched her foot. ‘These are all taken from the city guard depot.’

  She shrugged. ‘Oh?’

  ‘There’s a siege on, you know. Food is already rationed.’

  She hadn’t yet opened her eyes. ‘Look. If some crates fall off the back of a wagon, who’s the wiser? We’re gonna get paid for it, aren’t we?’

  ‘But you’re undermining the city defences—’

  Rheena cracked one eye. ‘Gods, Dorin. I swear. Don’t act like you just arrived with the turnip cart. Where do you think this stuff comes from? Everybody does it. Why shouldn’t we get some of the action?’

  He considered her answer. Yes, why should he care? Who was the Protectress to him? No one. Why then did this grate so? Then he had it. It was not a question of one ruler over another, the Hengans or the Kanese. It was that right now men and women were putting their lives at risk to shield him and this was how he was repaying them? And for what? A handful of greasy coins? The meanness of it turned his stomach. He thought it . . . well, beneath him.

  They passed beneath the arch of the outer wall over the Idryn. No city guards called down and no crossbow bolts flew. Either the guards didn’t care if someone left the city, or they’d been paid to look the other way.

  Downstream they came to a wooded turn of the river and here Bruneth ordered them to the southern shore. As they approached, a narrow light shone from among the trees, blinking on and off. ‘Ready lines,’ Bruneth hissed. ‘Throw!’

  The crew heaved the lines to the wooded shore. Dark shapes moved to gather them up and soon they were being drawn in. The side of the barge scraped up against the man-tall mud cliff that was the southern riverside.

  ‘Who’s there?’ Bruneth demanded of the dark.

  ‘No names, I think,’ a man answered, letting himself down to the timbers. Amid the murk, Dorin glimpsed a flash from metal armour and the fittings of a sword sheath. Other shapes moved amid the cover of the treed cliff-top.

  By the sleeping goddess – they were selling to the Kanese! Well, he decided, mentally shrugging. Who else would be in need of military supplies?

  ‘Start unloading,’ the newcomer called up to the trees.

  Bruneth huffed his objection. ‘Payment first.’

  ‘Of course,’ the fellow – an officer? – answered smoothly.

  Over the rush of the river and the night wind rustling through the tree boughs, the sound of a crossbow being ratcheted touched Dorin’s ear. He casually crossed over to Rheena and took her arm, drawing her to the barge’s side. ‘This looks very bad,’ he murmured.

  She shook off his hand, vexed. ‘I told you – we’re bein’ paid for it.’

  ‘I think we are,’ he answered, darkly. ‘At the first sign of trouble, jump over the side.’

  She eyed him as if he were drunk. ‘What? I can’t swim.’

  ‘Hang on to the side.’

  ‘Where is it, then?’ Bruneth grumbled again.

  ‘Coming. Ah!’ The dark shapes, armoured soldiers, handed down a set of saddlebags. The officer passed them over. They were obviously very heavy. Bruneth knelt to open them and the officer backed away from him as he did so.

  Shit was all Dorin managed before multiple crossbow bolts slammed into Bruneth. Dorin pushed Rheena over the side and ducked as further bolts raked the barge deck. He dodged to where Loor and Shreth had leaped behind the cover of some barrels, their eyes white all round in the dark. Bruneth’s crew started firing back. The officer had drawn his longsword and was calmly closing on the nearest crewman.

  ‘Jump!’ Dorin snarled.

  ‘Can’t swim,’ Loor stammered back.

  Furious, Dorin simply grabbed the two by their shirts and dragged them to the side and heaved them over. ‘It’s shallow here!’ he hissed after them.

  He turned round to find himself staring directly at the Kanese officer. He retreated up an aisle between piled crates, drawing his heaviest fighting knives. The man advanced, then lunged, swinging. Dorin edged aside the blow, sending the sword blade slamming into a crate. To the surprise of both, it jammed there. The officer yanked on the hilt. Dorin darted forward and sank his knife into the officer’s neck just behind the chin-strap of his helmet. The man froze. Their eyes met. In the fellow’s gaze Dorin saw the despairing recognition that he was dead and there was nothing he could do about it.

  The officer sank to his knees. Dorin moved on past him. He rounded a roped heap of barrels, heading for the side, only to flinch down as a flurry of crossbow bolts slammed into the lashed timbers ahead. Cursing, he backed away to find cover on the side away from shore. The barge rocked beneath his feet as numerous soldiers jumped
down to it. He sensed the odds slipping steadily away from him but kept his head, crawling behind cover to search for another way to the side. He pulled himself over dead and dying members of Bruneth’s crew, all punched through by multiple bolts. The living called to him and he silently cursed them for giving away his position.

  Soldiers rounded the aisle ahead, spotted him. There was nothing for it now. He charged, blades readied. Surprised, the lead soldier snapped up his crossbow. He shot too early and the bolt struck just ahead of Dorin’s feet.

  Then he was among them, knives swinging. He had the advantage in the constricted alley and went for swift killing blows, slicing exposed necks, faces, and throats. The fourth and last soldier of this group he held up as a shield between himself and the shore. The moment he stopped moving bolts began thumping into the corpse and the crates about him. He started shuffling clumsily towards the nearest side.

  Before he made it, another clutch of soldiers reached him. These charged with longswords. He heaved the corpse on to the first, entangling him, and closed with the rest. Cursing him, the two at the back dropped their swords – useless in such close combat – and went for their knives. Dorin trapped the sword blade of the nearest and counter-thrust up into the groin. The man went down with a shriek. The second obviously fancied himself some sort of duellist as he held two longswords. Dorin lured him into crossing them then pushed forward, trapping the blades between them. He whipped a knife across the fellow’s throat then turned away just in time to parry knife attacks from the last two.

  These proved experienced veterans. Each fought with two gauches. Dorin found himself on the defensive, parrying four blades. They forced him back down the aisle and out past his cover. Crossbow bolts smacked into the barrels and crates about him.

  Snarling, he pressed forward against the far heavier and armoured soldiers. This would not do. He’d trained in fighting up to eight opponents at a time. Two would not get the better of him! Feinting, he tricked one into committing ahead of the other and this one he kept busy and in the way of the second. He knew he could take him but the question was how best to do it.

  There was no time to be pretty about it – even now the barge rocked beneath new boots – so Dorin took the first opening he had to thrust a blade straight in the throat and kicked the man backwards on to his friend. The two went down in a tangle. Crouching, Dorin stitched the second at groin, stomach and neck in quick succession then ran for the side.

  Soldiers yelled behind. Bolts hissed the air. He jumped, rolled, and tumbled over the edge into the murky warm Idryn.

  The Kanese fired into the water for some time before eventually giving up. Torch-wielding search parties scoured the nearby shore, but by then Dorin had pulled himself along through the mud and weeds and grass at the river’s edge until he resembled just another heap of muck.

  He moved slowly, sliding himself along by tugging at the roots of the stalks about him. Once he judged he’d gone far enough he slithered up the mud slope and entered the woods, confident that his training would allow him to avoid detection. At a sound he paused, listening. Bracken and dry branches broke to the north. He closed on the noise, knives readied.

  It was Loor, stumbling through the dark. Dorin moved quickly, before the lad’s fumbling could alert any Kanese. The lad jumped as he appeared and he barely had time to slap a hand across his mouth before he shouted his surprise.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he hissed into Loor’s ear. He released his mouth.

  ‘Looking for you,’ the lad answered – not quietly enough.

  ‘Make for the river gate, you fool.’

  ‘Shreth’s wounded. Rheena’s with him.’

  Dorin clamped his lips shut. Damn this night to Hood’s dark laughter! Oponn must be howling. ‘Lead the way,’ he snarled.

  Allowing Loor to go ahead, Dorin soon realized, was a mistake. The lad was completely lost. Dorin finally took hold of his shoulder and forced him to a halt. Loor drew breath to speak but Dorin silenced him, listening.

  It had surprised him how easily the Kanese had given up the search. Now that he listened to the night noises of the woods, chilled to the bone as his sodden clothes wicked away his body heat, it came to him that perhaps they weren’t supposed to be here any more than he. That possibility allowed him to relax just a touch, and let himself breathe more deeply.

  ‘Where did you leave her?’ he asked, his voice low.

  ‘The river bank.’

  ‘Okay. This way.’

  After reaching the river’s edge he doubled back, thinking that the wounded Shreth hadn’t gotten this far. They found them lying in the water. Rheena was holding Shreth’s chin up above the surface as he lay on top of her. Dorin drew him up the mud slope. He was awake but weak with blood loss; he’d taken a bolt in the leg and another had gouged his scalp. Both wounds still bled badly. Dorin set to binding the leg then wrapped the youth’s head. He and Loor walked him through the woods, an arm over each of their shoulders. Shreth kept blacking out but there was nothing they could do for that.

  Dorin kept finding Rheena staring at him. ‘What is it?’ he finally asked.

  ‘You killed them soldiers,’ she said, awed. ‘All of them. I saw.’

  ‘Not all of them.’

  She turned away. ‘Stupid Tran and his dumb deals. Pung’s going to hear about this, I tell you.’

  ‘I’m sure he will,’ Dorin said grimly. Who else arranged for the theft of those goods, after all?

  ‘What’re we gonna do?’ Loor whined, breathless.

  ‘If we can make it to the river gate before dawn, I can get you in.’

  ‘Okay,’ Rheena answered with a fierce nod. ‘We’ll make it. Let’s go.’

  In the last hour before dawn, Dorin swam them one by one through the river gate. Shreth was now unconscious, his breathing shallow. Dorin eased him into the flow and drew him along on top of him, swimming on his back, a hand under Streth’s chin. If the Idryn had had any stronger current it would have been impossible to manage.

  Pre-dawn fishermen on the easternmost dock were astonished that morning as three bedraggled, filthy and sodden figures climbed up the bank, lifted a fourth member of their party, and staggered up the dock leaving behind clots of river mud and a trail of wet tracks.

  Being such a sight, they kept to the back alleys as much as possible, Dorin and Loor carrying Shreth between them. As they neared Tran’s territory, Dorin slowed, wondering just what he should do. The idea of entering the man’s headquarters and being surrounded by his crew did not appeal. It would be too much like surrendering – especially after such a disaster.

  Rheena cast him an irritated glare, hissed, ‘What is it?’

  He stopped, and Loor had no choice but to stop with him. ‘I don’t think you should go back to Tran.’

  She gaped at him, peered round as if asking for witness to his idiocy. ‘Why ever not?’

  ‘He’ll have to blame someone for this failure, Rheena. And if none of Bruneth’s people got away, you’re the likely candidate.’

  She laughed. ‘He can blame me all he wants. Truth is, he’s the one in charge. It’s on his head.’

  Dorin frowned a negative. ‘He’ll offer you up in his place – make up some damned lie. Accuse you of cutting a deal with the Kanese. Anything to squirm out of the blame.’

  She was shaking her head now, her muddied mass of frizzy, mud-streaked hair hanging lopsided. ‘Don’t do this. If you run, you’re the mark. Pung will hunt you down.’

  He gently lowered Shreth. ‘You can blame me. Say I blew the deal.’

  ‘We’d never—’ Loor began, but Dorin cut him off.

  ‘You’ll do whatever you have to do to live! Okay, Loor?’ The lad actually looked hurt by Dorin’s vehemence, but he nodded, biting his lip. Dorin turned to Rheena. ‘See you around.’

  She was glaring, hands on hips, but her eyes were wet. ‘Fine. Go ahead. I will blame you, then. You dumb asshole!’

  Dorin bowed, dipping his head. ‘Take
care.’ He jogged off the way they had come.

  From behind him, up the alley, came a last shout, ‘Damn you!’

  * * *

  Silk had never before been asked to attend the Protectress during one of her interviews, and so when the request came he was quite surprised, and a touch curious. As ordered, he entered the audience chamber only to find it empty. Nonplussed, he halted, staring about. Did he have the hour wrong?

  A palace retainer came padding up the hall towards him and bowed. Rather distracted, Silk hardly gave him any attention. ‘Yes?’

  ‘The Protectress requests your presence at the Inner Focus.’

  Now Silk turned. The Inner Focus? Truly? He’d only been there once before. Since when was Shalmanat interviewing within her most private sanctum? He started at once for the doors that were guarded day and night.

  As he approached up the hallway the guards stamped their spears and opened the door. Bright white daylight glared, momentarily blinding Silk as he advanced. The door shut behind him. Blinking, he was just able to make out the broad circular chamber, unadorned, and the figure seated at the very centre. He started forward; the heels of his fine leather boots resounded rather loudly on the white marble floor. Reaching the middle, he bowed to Shalmanat who was seated on her private chair – not the white stone monstrosity of the audience chamber meant to impress the gullible. Rather, the slim woman was seated on a plain leather camp stool. The sort that might stand next to any fireside across the Seti Plains.

  She was dressed as usual in her long linen shirt and trousers. But there was a sternness about her eyes this day. Silk bowed. ‘M’lady.’

  She gestured to her right. ‘Stand here, please, Silk. I will be interviewing a very . . . special . . . sorceress today. I would like your impressions afterwards.’

  Silk bowed once more, now very curious indeed. ‘Of course, m’lady.’ He moved to Shalmanat’s right. The woman brushed back her long pale hair in a gesture Silk would almost have named nervous, then clapped her hands. The door grated open.

  A single unprepossessing figure entered the chamber. Silk was first struck by her very plain unremarkableness. If Shalmanat had not described her as special, he would have passed her on the street without a second glance. Yet he noticed that she did not pause or blink as she entered the glare of the chamber, but walked forward unhesitatingly.