Of course, those defenses seemed to have meant little to the faceless woman, and that thought gave Alyssa a chill. Surely the Kulls were behind their hiring, but what if it had been Thren Felhorn handing over the coin instead? Suddenly her father’s difficulties in dealing with the guilds didn’t seem quite so pathetic. Clearly the Kulls meant for her to take over the Gemcroft estate. Once in a position to rule, she would keep all that in mind when deciding how to deal with her father.
Men shouted in the far distance, their voices muffled through the walls.
“That would be Nava,” Eliora whispered. “She is looping the compound, killing guards foolish enough to leave themselves vulnerable. Hurry now. We go to your father’s room.”
The plush carpet felt wonderful to her bare feet. Even better was the warm burst of air blowing across her skin. She remembered how warm her father kept the mansion, and how she used to stretch out before the large fires roaring in the multitude of hearths throughout its halls. Winter still approached, but already Maynard had begun fighting the chill. Alyssa almost stole away from Eliora for such a fire, desiring nothing more than to huddle close and burn away the deep frost that had settled into her bones. The biting words the faceless woman might say kept her from doing so.
They hurried down a long hall. Over twenty windows stretched along the right, their glass covered by violet curtains. On the left hung paintings of former masters of the Gemcroft estate. A hysterical laugh died in her throat as she wondered if her own painting would someday hang on that wall. She also wondered if she’d live long enough for someone to paint it.
I come for my crown, she thought. What the bloody Abyss has come over me?
She wanted none of this. When she’d returned to Veldaren, she’d meant to berate her father, show him his cowardice and hesitance and by doing so spur him into harsher dealings with the guilds. Once that business was done, she’d hoped to breach the subject of Yoren Kull, and of how they’d spent many nights together, and amid whispers atop pillows, murmured promises of marriage. But to usurp her father before the waning of the moon? To have strange women slaughtering guards loyal to her own flesh and blood? No, this was a dream, a nightmare. She tried to tell herself she would be a better ruler. She tried to tell herself she was ready.
She didn’t believe a word of it.
They reached the end of the hall. Eliora slipped through the empty doorway, silent as a ghost. A guard stood to the right of it, and he died with a dagger in his throat and a hand wrapped over his mouth. As she watched the blood spill across the floor, Alyssa remembered the questions her father had asked. What did the Kull household plan? Nothing, she’d insisted.
Nothing but your elimination, she thought. Dimly she wondered if her own eyes were as covered as Eliora’s with her thin white cloth.
Once certain no more guards were about, Eliora waved Alyssa on through.
“Is there anyone who might help supervise the Gemcroft estate?” the faceless woman asked as they passed through a series of bedrooms. “An advisor or a wise man, perhaps?”
“My father does have an advisor,” Alyssa said. She remembered Eliora’s earlier warning and lowered her voice. “Though I cannot recall his name.”
“Do you remember his face?”
She nodded.
“Describe him.”
A face flashed before her eyes, that of an older man with a short white beard and a shaved head. His eyebrows she especially remembered. He had shaven them regularly, and as a little girl she had been fascinated by the strange way it made his face look.
Eliora bobbed her head up and down, looking like a doll with its head off balance as Alyssa described the man.
“Will you hurt him?” she asked when done.
“No,” Eliora said. “Now I know, I will let him live. The elder man is the key to your take-over. To the common worker and guard, there is little difference when the figurehead changes names, so long as their immediate master stays the same.”
The faceless woman stopped at another hallway and glanced in both directions.
“Which way to your father’s bedroom?” she asked.
Alyssa thought for a moment.
“Left,” she said. “Not far from my own.”
“Stay here, and stay silent,” Eliora said. “There will be guards.”
The shadow cloak swirled about her body, her limbs and head fading away into a shapeless blob of black and gray. Only the serrated dagger shone bright and true in her violet hand. Alyssa glanced behind her every few moments, feeling almost certain a guard would find her alone and helpless. She had turned down numerous offers of training, and had been taught only rudimentary self-defense while living with John Gandrem at Felwood Castle. As she stood there, she wished she had taken those offers. She’d have given up anything if it meant holding a blade without fear of the shouts she heard throughout the mansion.
The core of anger hidden in her breast flared. She had stridden into her father’s house as cocksure as any man might have. Had the chill of the cells stolen that away from her? She was the rightful heir, and after the embarrassment of five years of secret warfare against an inferior opponent, most members of her household would welcome a stronger, smarter leader. If any guard appeared, she would demand the loyalty of his sword.
The sounds of a scuffle reached her ears, coupled with a single pained scream that was cut off halfway through. She was nervous about looking around the corner to see, but did so anyway. She saw several bodies lying in a bloody path that ended at another corner. She thought to give chase when a dagger pressed against her neck.
“Where is my sister?” she heard a voice ask.
“Are you Nava?” Alyssa asked, trying her hardest not to sound afraid. Her voice came out sounding weak but annoyed. Given the circumstances, she thought that was acceptable. The dagger shifted against her skin, and from the brief pause, she figured the woman was surprised.
“Not Nava,” she whispered. “Zusa. Now where is my sister?”
“Eliora went ahead,” Alyssa said, telling no more than what was asked for. She tried to remind herself that this was her home, and that she should be the one asking the questions, but her logic was weak against the serrated edge pressed against her soft skin.
“I hope you’re not lying,” Zusa said. “False tongues are often split.”
The dagger scraped across her neck. Alyssa was certain blood would run down her chest, but none did.
“It’s not a lie,” she said. “Now remove that blade. I am Alyssa Gemcroft, and it was your task to free me from my prison. Threaten harm upon me, and you risk the boon you were promised for this affair.”
The dagger left her neck, and Alyssa felt proud of how she’d handled the situation. When she turned, she was surprised to see another of the faceless women had joined them. Disguised as she was in her black and purple cloth, Alyssa had not a clue who it might be, but then she heard the soft whisper and knew.
“Maynard is not in his room,” Eliora said. “Something is amiss.”
“Find him,” Zusa said. “Time is our enemy.”
The dogs howled louder as both faceless women turned to Alyssa.
“Where is your father?” they demanded.
“I don’t know,” she said, taken aback. “The hour is late; he should be in bed. Maybe something needed his attention, or his sleep was troubled and he took to wandering…”
“Or he was waiting for us,” Eliora said. “May Karak damn them all. Move, while Nava still buys us time outside.”
They hurried down the hall, Alyssa’s mind racing. She wondered if her father had any hidden rooms or safe places tucked away in corners of the estate, but she remembered none. She had been a rambunctious girl, and curious too. If there had been any, she would have known.
Unless Father added them recently, she thought. With five years of secret war, he would have had plenty of time to build and remodel.
Their path led them to the dining hall, which looked naked with the empty chai
rs, covered table, and unlit chandeliers. The shouts of the guards grew louder. The faceless women tilted their heads toward each other, as if sharing a thought. Guards were pouring into the mansion.
“Alerted,” Zusa said. “But how?”
Alyssa knew of no other way to describe it: the bare wall to her left dissolved. What should have been solid stone crumpled and curled, red smoke wafting off it. Inside was a room of which she had no memory. The walls were gray plaster, undecorated and leading farther into the mansion. Filling that room were more than twenty guards, armored in steel and armed with swords. Tabards emblazoned with the Gemcroft sigil covered their tunics.
“Sister, with me!” Zusa shouted, drawing her dagger and lunging toward the soldiers. Eliora was quickly behind her. The guards attempted to flood into the room, but they were held back at the narrow exit. Those in the front battled with the faceless women, but their movements seemed slow compared to the grace of their opponents’. Alyssa thought they’d struggle against the guards’ heavy armor, but the faceless women’s serrated daggers sliced through the mail as if it were butter. The metal melted and smoked purple after each cut, helpless before a powerful magic.
The women held strong, but they were pushing back a river with only daggers. Five died at their feet, but the rest pressed forward, shoving aside their dying comrades. As the guards spread out to surround them, the two assassins flipped back and away, their bodies curling around sword strikes as if their bones were water.
“Run, girl!” Eliora shouted. Alyssa sprinted down the hall and into a long corridor. She glanced out the rows of windows, her heart shuddering at the sight. Pouring through the front gates in frightening numbers were various mercenaries wearing the Gemcroft standard. Whatever her punishment would have been in the cell, Alyssa realized that her attempt to escape and supplant her father would increase it tenfold.
Screams chased her down the hall. Escape was all that mattered now, she realized. There would be no grab for power, no careful bartering of life for rule. The thought of returning to her cold, drafty cell spurred her on. When she reached a door, she glanced behind. None of the faceless had come yet.
Glass shattered, and Alyssa cried out as shards of it cut across her face. A figure crashed in through the window. She felt arms wrap around her body.
“Worry not for my sisters,” said a deep-voiced woman who could only be Nava. “Your life is precious. Follow me into the night.”
Alyssa’s breathing was ragged, frightened gasps. Her pulse was a war drum in her ears. With trembling fingers she took Nava’s hand. A painful lurch later, they tumbled through the broken window and onto the cool grass of the lawn.
“Stay silent,” Nava said, pressing a wrapped finger across Alyssa’s lips. “Not a word until we leave the gate. Understand?”
Alyssa nodded.
“Good. Come.”
They were on the western side of the complex. The main gates were to the south, but instead of going there, Nava pulled her north. The stars were hidden behind clouds, and in the dim light Alyssa stumbled as she ran. Only the strong grip on her wrist kept her moving. More mercenaries spread around the house, and she heard their shouts behind her. They had not yet been spotted, but how long until they were?
The tall gate loomed high to her left. She felt the tug on her wrist lead her closer and closer, until suddenly a hand was clasped over her mouth, holding in her startled cry as they halted all movement.
“Shhh,” Nava hissed into Alyssa’s ear.
The faceless woman removed her cloak, the fabric making a soft sigh as it slipped through her fingers. A single word of magic and it snapped erect. Nava flung it upon the bars, where it stuck like honey. The woman rolled through it as if the bars no longer existed, spun on her heels, and then reached back. Her hand pressed through the cloak as if it were darkness, only darkness. Alyssa swallowed her fear and took her hand. A hard jerk forward, and then she was on the other side.
Nava snapped her fingers. The cloak returned to cloth, glinting as if a thousand stars were woven into its fabric. She wrapped it across her shoulders and took Alyssa’s hand. Together they fled from the shouts of soldiers and mercenaries. Alyssa gave one last look at the mansion, knowing in her heart that it would never be hers.
Deep within, Maynard stepped out from the gray tunnels winding throughout his estate. His advisor, the gray-bearded man with shaved eyebrows, stood beside him. His name was Bertram Sully.
“I knew the Kulls were desperate,” Bertram said, frowning at the mess the mercenaries were making as they stamped throughout the place. “But to hire faceless women? Have they gone mad?”
“Perhaps,” Maynard said. “And I wonder what they could have offered as payment. However, that’s not important, not now. The priests of Karak swore to us they would remain out of our war. It would seem that promise has finally been broken.”
Bertram stroked his beard.
“Perhaps not. The left hand does not always know the actions of the right. If this is true, then we might have an opportunity here.”
“And what is that?” Maynard asked. He kicked a nearby chair, knocking it to the floor. He had known the Kulls would try to rescue Alyssa, and he had hoped to capture a few of their kind in the attempt. How he would have loved to shave the head of that pompous Yoren and then hang him with his own golden locks. Instead his daughter had escaped, and over twenty of his guards were dead. From what he had seen, his own men had not scored a single cut.
“Think on this,” Bertram said. “Should we confront the priests about the actions of the faceless, they will have few recourses. They can punish the faceless for disobedience, thereby removing the only weapon the Kulls have against us. The priests may also try to atone for the broken promise by allying with us, perhaps even giving us the service of the faceless. We can smite the Kulls with their own weapon.”
“You forgot a third option,” Maynard said. “The priests deny any involvement while secretly accepting whatever bribe the Kulls offered, and nothing changes.”
“The priests would not be so foolish as to betray the Trifect,” Bertram insisted.
“This war has made fools of everyone,” Maynard said. “But it will not happen to me again. Set up a meeting with high priest Pelarak tomorrow night. We will force the servants of Karak to break their neutrality, one way or another.”
“And if they refuse?”
Maynard Gemcroft’s eyes glinted with danger.
“Then we reveal their existence, all while flooding the city with rumors of human sacrifice and murdered children. Let the mobs burn their temple and tear them limb from limb. We shall see if they remain neutral when that is the fate I offer.”
CHAPTER
6
Kayla wasn’t sure what she’d expected of Thren’s safe house upon first arriving there, but the elegant mansion surrounded by steel bars was certainly not it. She spent the day scouting the place, meeting new members, committing faces to memory. All throughout, Haern made excuses to see her, not that she minded. Having Thren’s son with her seemed to make everyone treat her with more respect.
When her tour of the place was done, she returned to the room, Haern in tow like a lovesick puppy.
“Can’t have asked for a nicer room,” she said as she plopped down onto the bed. At the door, Haern remained, as if embarrassed to come farther inside. “So how did your father get such an … impressive building to be his safe house?”
“Some rich merchant fled the city with his family,” Haern said, his voice much quieter than it had been during their flight from the soldiers. “The Kanes, I think they were called. All his helpers stayed to keep the mansion clean, warm, and safe. My father moved in shortly after. I’ve even heard he keeps a few business contracts with various men about the city while pretending to be a friend of the real owner.”
“What happens when the merchant returns to his home?” she asked.
“He will not return until our war is done,” Haern said. “By then, we w
ill need this place no longer.”
Kayla thought the logic sound, but in the back of her mind she wondered what might happen if the merchant showed up with his possessions and servants and the rest of his guards. She doubted it would be Thren who ended up looking for a new home.
“Wait,” she said when the boy made to leave.
“Your name,” she said when he stopped halfway through the door. “I suppose I should start calling you Aaron now?”
He looked away, and his neck flushed red.
“I suppose you should,” he said. “But…”
“But…?” she pressed when his voice trailed off.
“But I like not being myself,” he said, unable to meet her eye. His fingers tugged at loose splinters in the door. “I liked you not knowing who I was. That meant I could be anyone. So you can call me Haern if you want. Just not … just not around my father. I don’t think he’d like that.”
And then he was gone. Kayla shook her head, deciding she was more confused now than before she’d asked the question.
“Kayla?”
She looked up, saw one of the younger members of the Spider Guild standing at the door.
“Yes?” she asked.
“Thren wants to see you.”
She let out a sigh, then waved him away. At last she’d find out just what the man wanted from her. Sitting in her room with nothing to do would drive her insane.
As she walked through the estate, marveling at various paintings of the faraway lands of Omn, Ker, and Mordan, she let her mind wander to her own situation. She had avoided guilds, instead relying on her information and her contacts to keep herself warm, fed, and safe. Now she had allied herself with the most dangerous man in Veldaren, and for what? A vague promise of wealth, the same vague promise that she had mocked hundreds of others for following?
No, it wasn’t the wealth. It was the power, she realized. He had offered her a role at his side, the highest reward he could bestow. If the entire city quaked in fear at the name of Felhorn, might not the same one day happen for Kayla? A foolish fantasy, perhaps, but she could not shake it away. It sucked wisdom from her heart like a leech. She distantly hoped that her reward for such folly would not be too severe.
Shadowdance 01 - A Dance of Cloaks Page 7