Shadowdance 05 - A Dance of Ghosts

by David Dalglish

  Ghost rose to his feet, and he kept his hands on the hilts of his swords.

  “Forgive me,” he said. “But I was denied the chance to discover your name before, yet today I think I was gifted such knowledge. Zusa?”

  The woman tensed at the mention of her name, and he saw her peering down at him with new understanding. When the realization hit her, it might as well have been his fist.

  “I remember you,” she said. “You tried to kill me years ago.”

  “A simple misunderstanding,” he said. “I thought you were the Watcher, remember?”

  Zusa vaulted off the fence and landed light as a feather in front of Ghost. Her daggers were drawn, and she made no attempt to hide that fact.

  “Why are you here?” she asked.

  Ghost laughed, and he shook his head, hardly able to believe it. The strange woman he’d had but a single exchange with, the one he’d challenged in a race to find and kill the Watcher … she was Zusa, the one Melody needed killed?

  How disappointing.

  “Forgive me,” Ghost said, “but I do not enjoy this fact any more than you will. I am to kill you, Zusa.”

  She froze, her whole body going tense. Those brown eyes widened, and Ghost knew a single quick movement on his part would set her tumbling. So instead, he remained calm, the hilts to his swords still comfortably resting in his large palms.

  “It’s a strange assassin who reveals himself and then his plans,” Zusa said, clearly distrusting his statement.

  “Look at my face,” Ghost said. “Strangeness and I are welcome bedfellows. But I only wished to speak with you, Zusa, and give you warning. You deserve as much, so consider this a token to make up for my earlier rudeness.”

  “I am not one for games,” Zusa said, taking a careful step backward. “If you are to kill me, then draw your swords now and try.”

  “I said strangeness and I are welcome bedfellows,” said Ghost. “Not foolishness. We will fight when I am ready, Zusa.” His grip on his swords tightened. “Either that, or you can charge me now and die. The choice is yours.”

  He stared her down, the animal instincts of the killer resurfacing with such clarity and familiarity, he was shocked by their strength. This moment, this calm before the bloodshed, was one he’d always cherished. Never more was he so close to death, yet so alive.

  Zusa leaped, but it was backward, a vaulting flip that sent her over the spiked tips and onto the grass behind the fence.

  “So full of surprises,” Ghost said. “Perhaps you will not be the first to die.”

  “Stay away from my family,” Zusa said. “Stay away from my home.”

  “I’m only here for you,” Ghost said, deciding to toss her a bone. “If you seek threats to your home and family, look elsewhere.”

  Zusa’s eyes narrowed.

  “Be gone by morning,” she said, then turned and fled back toward the house.

  Ghost let go of a blade and saluted her departure. Yes, she was definitely interesting, the strange wrappings, that intense stare … not to mention her ability to leap through the air as if she were but a sparrow on the wind. He would save her for later, perhaps even for after the Watcher’s death.

  He strolled away from the fence, a bounce to his step. If she was to wait and the Watcher was to be last, then that meant the Eschaton Mercenaries would be the first to die.

  CHAPTER

  6

  There were fifteen men, women, and children in the two wagons, and despite the late hour, the group drove to the following hill rather than staying among the corpses of the orcs. Haern kept to the rear of their formation, uncomfortable with the tearful thanks many gave. Following them all like a shadow was Thren.

  When at last a new fire burned and the families lay down for sleep, Haern built his own fire beyond the outer ring of the wagons and waited. Part of him was curious who would arrive first, and in the end, it was Delysia.

  “They’ll be telling stories of tonight to their children for ages,” she said, crossing her legs and sitting down next to him.

  “It was just a few dead orcs.”

  “The Watcher of Veldaren saved them on the road to Ker,” she said, nudging him in the side. “Not everyone is lucky enough to have such an experience.”

  He chuckled.

  “I doubt I’d consider them lucky, other than to have had you with them as well. They’d be long dead if you hadn’t kept them back.”

  Delysia inched closer to the fire, and she leaned toward it, her red hair cascading down the side of her face.

  “It wasn’t easy,” she said. “I managed to kill those first two right when they entered the clearing, then blinded the rest. That scared them enough to pull back, and from then on, I kept either blinding or striking the loudest of the brutes to keep them frightened.”

  She shivered.

  “Such horrible creatures,” she said. “They’re like the elves, only drained of everything good.”

  “Good in an elf? I think you might have hurt your head in the fight.”

  She laughed and elbowed him again. When she did, he jerked to the side, and when she leaned further in, he slid his arm around her and held her against him. She didn’t seem to mind, her head on his shoulder as they both stared into the crackling fire.

  “Why did you follow me?” Haern asked, knowing he’d have to ask and wanting it out of the way now, while they were at peace and his father away.

  “I was worried about you,” she said.

  “Me? Trust me, Del, I can handle myself.”

  “That’s not what worried me. You were to be alone and with him. I know you still bear scars from the way he raised you…”

  He squeezed her tight, but it was less a gesture of comfort and more an excuse to say nothing, for he wasn’t sure what to say.

  “I’m not the little boy I was,” he said, trying to explain it. “He’s still Thren, but this time, I think … I think I might be the one to reach him. I might be the one to show him a way to build a legacy without cruelty or murder.”

  She snuggled in closer against him.

  “I’m glad you’re trying, Haern, but he scares me nonetheless. Just … just don’t let him change you, all right? I’d hate to lose the sweet boy I first met all those years ago.”

  He chuckled.

  “You won’t lose me. So long as you’re here, I will be, too. What does surprise me, though, is that Tarlak was willing to let you go off alone.”

  She pulled away from him, scoffing.

  “As if I need his permission,” she said, feigning outrage. “But no, he was not pleased, especially knowing where you two are going and that I’d be alone. I only left a day behind you, though, and I caught up with the Bartlets over there, whole family riding west to start a new life in Ker. My hope was to find you when you neared the Stronghold. Needless to say, I didn’t expect you to find me in mid-battle.”

  “I seem to be quite good at that,” Haern said. “Let’s see; there was tonight, and there was that first night Alyssa unleashed her mercenaries, where I found you hard-pressed at a fountain. Oh, and when I stumbled upon you and that Ghost fellow having a nice talk…”

  “I believe I saved your life that time,” she said. “Or has your pride conveniently forgotten my blinding spell right when he was to cut you in half?”

  “Well, that taught him to think a little girl like you was no threat,” Haern said. He smiled, but the remembrance was tinged with pain, for when he’d come stumbling into the Eschaton home, he’d found Senke badly wounded and leaning against the wall. He’d lived, but that same killer, Ghost, had finished the job during Haern and Senke’s combined assault on Leon Connington’s mansion, which had put an end to the thief war that had strangled the city for ten years.

  Delysia fell silent as well, and he felt the memory hanging over both of them, stealing away the weightless mood.

  “You pick strange company to keep, Watcher,” Thren Felhorn said, stepping out from the trees and into the light of the fire.


  Haern grinned at his father.

  “Of course I do,” he said. “You’re here, aren’t you?”

  Thren grunted and took a seat opposite them of the fire. There was no hiding his disapproval of Delysia’s presence.

  “Your humor is wasted at this hour,” he said. “Besides, we have decisions to make. The wagons will only slow us down, though if we share in their food, it might make up for the delay. Given our recent heroics, I’m sure it would be easy enough to take advantage of their gratitude.”

  “There won’t be any need to take advantage of anyone,” Delysia interjected. “The Bartlets will share their food willingly, especially after all you’ve done.”

  Thren paused, and he stared at Delysia like he would an animal that crawled up to him, opened its mouth, and began speaking.

  “These matters do not concern you, woman,” Thren said. “I suggest you go join the wagons while we discuss. We have no need of a prostitute.”

  Haern’s eyes spread wide, and he was too stunned to speak. Delysia, however, was not.

  “I am a priestess of Ashhur,” she said, a hard edge entering her normally soft voice.

  “Then you’re a whore for the wrong god,” Thren said, hardly caring. “At least with gold, you can accomplish something in this world.”

  She moved to stand but Haern held a tight grip on her wrist, keeping her seated. He met his father’s eye, and his tone made his opinions clear.

  “Delysia is a guest, and will be staying with us for as long as she pleases,” he said.

  “Is that so?” Thren asked.

  “It is. She’s a founding member of the Eschaton Mercenaries, and will prove valuable in our attempt to find Luther.”

  “Valuable?” Thren asked, turning his attention back to her. “Is that what you are, Delysia Eschaton? Valuable?”

  Something about the way he was staring at her, the way he said her name, made Haern suddenly uncomfortable. It was almost as if he recognized her somehow, but from where? Had Tarlak ever tangled with the Spider Guild prior to Haern’s joining them, perhaps?

  “I will be no burden,” Delysia said, but the answer was unsatisfactory for Thren.

  “So be it,” he said, rising to his feet. “I cannot do this on my own, and if this woman is a requirement for your aid, Haern, then I will endure. I take it we are to travel with the wagons?”

  “Until we cross the Gods’ Bridges,” Delysia said. “After that, they will be continuing west at Umbridge while we head south.”

  “Of course,” Thren said, his look a mixture of acid and condescension. “Good of you to plan our path for us. Perhaps you will be valuable after all.”

  He wandered back into the forest, and at his departure, Haern felt Delysia relax considerably in his arms.

  “How did you stand being alone with him for so long?” she asked, pulling her arms across her body as if cold.

  “He’s not always like that,” Haern said. “Something about you set him off. I don’t believe he thinks too highly of Ashhur.”

  “Of course not,” Delysia said. “There’s no room for gods in his heart. He already views himself as one.”

  Haern shook his head, remembering the words he’d been taught.

  “ ‘Let them think every breath of theirs is a gift,’” he echoed. “ ‘Not from the gods, but from you.’ Thren once taught me that.”

  Delysia shivered.

  “How horrible,” she said.

  “That’s just who he is.”

  “No, not that,” she said, staring off into the woods. “That he’d have you believe it yourself.”

  Traveling with the families was pleasant enough, and they passed over the Gods’ Bridges with relative ease, which was fine for Delysia. The last thing she wanted after the orcs’ attack was excitement. Once at Umbridge, the three of them parted from the group and began their trek south. Travel was easy, given the fine weather, at least the physical aspect of it. Being around Thren Felhorn was always awkward, especially given the strange way he behaved when she was near. It was as if he knew a secret she did not, something that made him far more guarded than he had any reason to be.

  Over the course of their travel, food had become something of an obsession for Delysia. As their smoked meat and dried grains ran low, dry tack became their food of choice. Boiling it helped a little, but it still hurt Delysia’s teeth and made her stomach cramp during their days of walking. Their only real fresh food beyond that was either from hunting (a rare kill should Thren or Haern manage to hurl one of their throwing knives and pierce a rabbit) or, more commonly, foraging for berries.

  “It’s getting late; stay and help me with the fire,” Haern said as he cracked a branch over his knee. High above, the sun was beginning its descent, heading toward the long row of hills that lined the horizon. All around were tall grass plains, dotted by scattered trees and the occasional bump of hill.

  “I still have an hour, at least,” Delysia said. “I believe I saw a raspberry patch just off the path, and I’d love to have something else to eat tonight.”

  “Thren might come back with a rabbit or squirrel,” Haern said.

  “If he does, then we’ll make it a feast,” she said, grabbing a small basket and taking it with her.

  It was clear he didn’t like seeing her venture off on her own, but though she’d never say it to his face, she was getting tired of his protective gaze, his constant presence. Even the little things, such as how he always made sure he slept with his bedroll between her and Thren, added up like tiny needles pressing into her skin. He wanted to keep her safe, she knew, but it also meant he didn’t trust her to stay safe on her own.

  Delysia glanced to her fingers as she bounced down the hill. A moment’s prayer, and a bit of white glimmered on her fingertips. Someday, she might have to remind Haern how capable she actually was. At least he wasn’t as bad as her brother. No doubt Tarlak would have eventually cracked and just teleported her back home to Veldaren while she slept. That he hadn’t done so already showed how much he trusted Haern, or how busy he was with other events. Given the state of the city when she left, her instincts said it was more the latter than the former.

  With a shake of her head, she scattered such thoughts. The weather was fine, the sunset a beautiful mixture of red and yellow, and she would not dwell on such frustrations. When she reached where the path veered right to slice through the center of two adjacent hills, she pushed off the path toward the thick set of bushes she saw several hundred feet away. As she neared, a smile spread across her face. She’d been right. They were raspberries and perfectly ripe. The first bush she reached, she yanked off several, popped them in her mouth, and squeezed out the juices with her tongue.

  “You can keep your squirrel,” she said, picking several more and filling her mouth. “Nothing is better than this.”

  After another minute of indulging, as well as staining the tips of her fingers purple, she grabbed the basket she’d brought with her and began to fill it. The berries would only last for a day at most, but as with every time she picked a basketful during their journey, their moods would lighten considerably. She began to hum a song, focusing on picking faster to ensure the basket would be full before the sun could set completely. So focused, in fact, she did not hear the sound of footsteps through the bushes.

  “This patch was well hidden by the tall grass,” said Thren Felhorn behind her. “I’m surprised you were able to see it.”

  Delysia tensed on instinct, then quickly recovered. She felt foolish for behaving so, but there was always a seriousness to Thren’s tone that made it impossible to feel at ease. Trying not to show how flustered she’d been, she grabbed the basket and turned to face him. He stood with his head cocked to the side, a curious look on his face. In his right hand, he held a rabbit by the legs, blood running down the brown fur and dripping drop after drop from the creature’s mouth, which was locked open in death. In Thren’s left hand, he held the slender blade that had performed the killing.


  “I guess I have an eye for these things,” she said.

  “I have an eye for things, too,” Thren said, and he looked to the rabbit. “Where to hide. How to tell a lie. How to kill.”

  He only wants to intimidate you, she told herself. As if the blood and knife were nothing, she turned back to the raspberry bush in front of her.

  “A shame yours won’t keep us fed tonight,” she said.

  “I disagree, or did you not notice the rabbit?”

  She glanced over her shoulder.

  “Oh,” she said, as if it were new to her. “So you did. Haern should have a fire ready, and he can start cooking it if you bring it to him.”

  It was a subtle attempt to guide him away from her, to show she was not afraid of his presence but still wanted him gone. Instead, he remained standing there, and the longer he did, the more the bloody dagger occupied her mind. The sounds she made as she gathered, the scraping of her feet on the dirt, the rustle of bushes with their thorns, failed to fill the silence between them as he stared.

  “I remember you,” Thren said, and Delysia’s heart stopped.

  “Is that so?” she asked, keeping her back to him.

  “Your name is first what felt familiar, has been ever since I learned the Watcher was staying with your mercenaries. But then I saw your face … and now I see your back. You were younger then, when I put an arrow through it. You should be dead, priestess, just like your father.”

  She put the basket down before her, slowly rose to her feet. She wiped the raspberry juices on the lowest part of her dress, turned to face him. Thren Felhorn stood mere feet away, dagger in one hand, dead thing in the other, and never before had Delysia seen someone so perfectly encapsulated by a single image such as then.

  “I’m sorry to disappoint,” she said, proud there was no quiver in her voice. “But someone took me to Ashhur’s temple for healing, and it’d have been rude of me to die on them after such a risk.”

  “You were corrupting my son,” Thren said.

  “I was saving him.”

  “The only thing he needed saving from was you.”