When he ceased, the room filled with an angry silence. Thren stood over the bed, one hand clenched into a fist, the other clutching the dagger with the eyeball still pierced by the tip.
“Thren,” Haern said, voice soft. “I think he’s telling the truth.”
Thren shook his head, and without a word he climbed onto the bed, straddled Ridley, and held his head once more in a vise grip.
“I’ve seen the loyalty Muzien inspires,” Thren said, and somehow, something had changed. He seemed to glow with cold loathing. Each word dripped with disgust and hatred. “I’ve seen men bow to him as if he were a god. He’s no different than Karak, no different than Ashhur. He wants to be worshipped as a divinity. He wants to build a legend to rival anything accomplished by humanity’s hands. You’ve screamed and begged, Ridley, but you haven’t made me believe you.”
“You know nothing of him,” Ridley said, panic creeping into his voice.
“I was his heir,” Thren whispered, dagger slipping beneath the remaining eye. “Who’s the damn fool now?”
The door to the bedroom opened, and Haern felt his heart leap in his chest. Spinning, hands falling for his sabers, he expected members of the Sun Guild. Instead he found a fat man with a receding hairline and alcohol stains on his shirt. The home’s owner, Haern realized.
“…The fuck?” the man asked, eyes bloodshot, brow furrowed.
Before either could answer, Ridley flung his body forward, straining every limit of his bonds. His head snapped forward, plunging Thren’s dagger deep into his other eye, burying it up to the hilt. Immediately afterward his body began to seize, head flopping up and down, arms flailing against the tied sheets.
“Gods damn it!” Thren said, ripping out the dagger. Furious, he turned to the interloper, yanked off the eyeball, and then flung the dagger across the room. It sank into the throat of the fat man, who stood there, stunned. Haern watched just as stunned, knowing he should have done something to stop it, yet he’d not. With two men now dead, the room began to stink of blood and evacuated bowels. Pulling his hood lower, Haern stepped over the homeowner’s corpse.
“Time to go,” he said. “It’s almost morning, and there’s nothing left for us here.”
“You’re wrong,” Thren said, retrieving his dagger. “We may not have learned anything, but we’re fighting a war, and must take every victory we can.”
Haern turned back around, shrugged.
“Then what do you want?” he asked.
Thren glared down at Ridley’s body.
“To leave a message,” he said, and then he began to work.
Using the sheets of the bed, they tied his arms together and then hung him naked before the door of his home. His eyes were gone, as were his fingers, his ears, and his tongue.
Across his bare chest, carved deep into the skin, bled the symbol of the Spider.
CHAPTER
7
Muzien stormed into the guildhouse, between the guards who snapped alert in near terror, and into the main foyer. Nearly a dozen men and women stood waiting, their ears full of rings. They were his best, his brightest … what was left of them, anyway. Those whom Thren Felhorn hadn’t butchered the night before.
“What do we know?” Muzien asked as they gave way, allowing him access to the large round table in the center of the well-lit room. On the table was a grand map of Veldaren, accompanied by multiple bottles of wine and ale. Muzien grabbed one, accepted a glass immediately offered by a man to his right, and poured himself a drink.
“Ridley was attacked at his home,” said Haley, a woman with blond hair and fifteen rings and studs in her left ear. She was one of the few from Veldaren’s old guilds to rapidly rise in rank, all fifteen kills having come after her joining the Sun Guild. “His guards were ready for it, not that it seemed to matter. We found dead bodies all about both the rooftops and the ground below. After that, best guess is he took Ridley, dragged him to a nearby safe house, and then got to work.”
Muzien glanced around to the others, and none looked eager to disagree with the assessment, or add anything of note.
“That’s it?” Muzien asked. “That’s all we know?”
“The spider makes it pretty clear who is responsible,” said Roddick, the other recruit from Veldaren in the room, and a former member of the Spider Guild, no less. “At least, who we’re supposed to think is responsible. Thren Felhorn doesn’t appear to be too frightened of your threats, Muzien.”
Having finished the glass, Muzien poured a second and downed it as well. It burned his throat, but it felt like appropriate punishment given his mistakes.
“I should have killed the bastard when I had him,” he muttered. “Thren’s pride is far too great to hand over Veldaren without a fight. Question is, did Thren do this alone, and what was he hoping to gain?”
“It’s obvious what he wanted,” said Haley. “He wanted to send a message.”
Muzien was hardly convinced. They could have wanted information from Ridley as well, the man having had his fingers in nearly everything that transpired within the city. He let the matter drop as another of the group spoke up.
“Is Thren good enough to handle six men at once?” asked Owen, a bald man with a slight lisp. Of everyone there, he bore the most rings in his ears, at twenty-seven. Since the death of Ridley’s guards, Muzien considered Owen the most competent of his men when it came to battle, with only the newcomer Zusa as a possible challenger.
“Thren would certainly say he is,” Roddick said.
Muzien shook his head.
“No,” he said. “Not those six. I expected someone to make an attempt on Ridley’s life, and those six were the best I had. Three he could handle, four at most. Someone helped him.”
“Former members of his guild?” asked Haley.
Letting out a sigh, Muzien put his hand on the map of Veldaren, analyzing it.
“Ridley’s body was left hanging in the heart of what used to be the Spider Guild’s territory,” he said. “That wasn’t an accident. He wants the rest of his guild to know he’s alive and resisting. Haley’s right. This was about a message, which means we must send one in return.”
Muzien glanced about, checking faces as he came to his decision.
“Everyone but Haley out,” he said. The men and women exchanged looks, then obeyed, heading outside or up the stairs to the various gambling rooms and private bedrooms. Standing opposite him at the table, Haley waited with her hands crossed behind her back. He could see the fear in her, the way she struggled to maintain an image of calm. Fearful, but controlled. Excellent.
“How well did you know those of the Spider Guild?” he asked her when they were alone.
“I…” She hesitated. “I know of many, Muzien, mostly by name, and only those with a respectable rank. Wilson Ket liked to keep track of those in power among all the other guilds, Thren’s in particular.”
Muzien walked to one of the far walls, on which hung a painted landscape featuring the four-pointed star. The star dominated the skyline so that no other stars might shine, and so that the light of the rising sun looked weak in comparison. Beneath was a dresser with many slender drawers, and yanking open the one on the bottom, he reached in and pulled out a book bound in fine leather. Dropping it before Haley, he opened it to the halfway mark, skimmed a few pages, and then stopped and pointed.
“Can you read?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, nodding.
“Good. Here is every addition to my guild since our arrival to Veldaren. Find me six who once belonged to the Spider Guild. The higher their former rank the better.”
Haley swallowed, and he could tell she was relieved. Now knowing his ire would not be aimed at her, she pored over the pages, tapping at names. Muzien grabbed a sheet of paper from the same dresser where he’d gotten the enrollment list, and he jotted down each name Haley listed. When she was done, he added Roddick as the seventh, then went to the door of the foyer and yanked it open.
“Give thi
s to Owen,” he told the man on guard, handing over the list. “Tell him I want all seven brought here to me at once. Oh, and that Zusa woman as well. He’ll know who I mean.”
“Of course,” the man said, bowing low and then hurrying away. Muzien slammed the door shut and caught Haley staring at him from across the room.
“Is there something you’d like to say?” he asked.
“No,” she said.
“Then leave. Your part in this is over.”
Haley dipped her head in respect, then left. In her absence Muzien moved about the large table in the center, pulling away several chairs and stacking them at the far wall so that only seven remained. That done, he poured himself another drink and waited. The former members of the Spider Guild, five men and two women, arrived in scattered bursts, and he greeted each one in turn with the same quiet order.
“Take a seat and say nothing,” he told them. That was all.
It took nearly thirty minutes of awkward silence, worried glances, and muted coughs before the last arrived, Zusa and Roddick striding in together. Unlike the last time he’d seen her, Zusa wore a long coat instead of a cloak, and sewn onto her pale shirt was the four-pointed star.
“Have a seat, Roddick,” Muzien said after ordering Owen to remain outside. “Zusa, beside me, please.”
The two exchanged a look, and then obeyed. As Zusa joined him at the wall, he turned so his back was to the table, and he lowered his voice so only she might hear.
“Thren killed someone important to me,” he whispered. “And for every one he takes, I will take seven from him. These are the seven. Go kill them where they sit.”
He stared into her eyes with each word he spoke, watching for signs of weakness, hesitation, or refusal. Upon her hearing the order, there was none, only the slightest of nods.
“As you wish,” she said. “But before I start … which of the seven should I fear most?”
The question alone improved his opinion of her immensely.
“Roddick,” he said.
Zusa nodded, turned toward the table. Casually she walked toward the seven. Crossing his arms and leaning against the wall beside the painting, Muzien watched, eager to see for himself the skill Ridley had insisted Zusa wielded.
Well, he thought. At least I shall have myself some entertainment. A shame you could not watch it with me, Ridley.
As Zusa curled around the table, heading for Roddick, Muzien felt his anticipation building. It had been a very long time since he’d witnessed a fighter of any intriguing skill. But a former follower of Karak, taught by the dark human god how to kill? This … this had promise, and it put a small smile on his face.
The seven watched her, unsure what Muzien wanted of them and clearly wary of Zusa’s role in the matter. Zusa, however, appeared unconcerned, and it wasn’t until she was directly behind Roddick that her hand dropped to her waist.
“Roddick,” she said, causing him to turn her way. Doing so exposed his neck, and with beautiful smoothness she drew a long dagger, sliced it across his throat, and then flipped the dagger blade-downward so she could jam it into the eye of the woman who sat beside him. Just like that, two were dead, and the others had yet to leave their seats.
Muzien’s smile doubled in size.
The final five lurched to their feet, drawing short swords and daggers to defend themselves.
“Slay her and live,” Muzien called out to them, wanting to ensure they gave it their all. “Flee, and you die by my hand instead of hers.”
Even at their superior numbers Zusa remained undaunted. With no hesitation, no fear, she jumped onto the table, toes barely touching the wood before she pushed herself off, leaping straight at the man on the opposite side. Unprepared for the sudden assault, he lifted his blade while falling back. It accomplished nothing, Zusa flying at him like an arrow that would never miss. Her daggers slammed aside his defense, she sidestepped left, then pirouetted. Arms lashing out, she blocked a strike from the woman near her while simultaneously slicing open the jugular of the first man. Blood splashed into the air, hot and sticky as it sprayed her cheek and hair. Undeterred, she finished the pirouette with both feet planted firmly on the ground, allowing her to leap at the woman with all her strength. They collided, a tangle of steel and limbs.
To her foe it might have been chaos, but Muzien’s eyes saw the control, the way Zusa positioned her blades to ensure a killing thrust as they rolled to the floor.
The remaining three moved to surround her, a man named Renley shouting orders to the others in a frantic attempt to coordinate. This was it, Muzien knew. Zusa’s advantage of surprise was lost, and the rest had positioning as well. Forming a triangle, they closed in as Zusa separated herself from the dead woman’s bleeding corpse.
“Which of you three is the bravest?” Zusa asked, head constantly on a swivel.
“Don’t need to be,” said Renley. “Just need you to make a mistake.”
Zusa smiled his way.
“You’ll die last,” she said.
At his smirk she dove into a roll, directly toward the table. The two men she dove between swung, their blades slashing the air above her. Shouting out cries to follow, the three rushed the table, hoping to trap her underneath. Muzien thought she might spin about, perhaps attempt to hamstring one, but instead he saw her reach the center of the table … and then fall straight into the shadowed floor, vanishing completely.
Instead of confusion, Muzien felt only elation as Zusa reappeared, falling from the very ceiling. Her opponents had no idea she’d even vanished as she came crashing down, one dagger jamming into a man’s back. As he screamed, Zusa yanked it free, dashed two steps, and slammed both blades into another’s chest as he turned to see the reason for the scream. He toppled, and Zusa twisted her daggers on their way out, then faced the lone survivor: Renley.
“You got anything besides tricks?” he asked, holding his short sword up in defense. “Come on. Let’s see you kill at least one man face-to-face.”
With no urgency, Zusa carefully stalked Renley. She feinted an attack, just a quick flinch, but enough to make Renley hop backward. Muzien laughed in open mockery of the final survivor. At the start Zusa had resembled a wild panther unleashed. Now she was a cat playing with a mouse. Zusa swung a single dagger, hitting the short sword, making its metal sing. Then came the other, back and forth, each stroke accompanied by a step forward. With every block Renley retreated, her attacks coming with such a maddeningly consistent yet rapid pace he found no chance to counter, no way to break her cycle. There were ways, of course. Muzien could list off several solutions to take control of the battle. But Renley was not Muzien.
When his back touched the wall, Renley panicked, at last attempting to counter one of the cuts during the brief window between it and the next. His sword chopped for Zusa’s head, but she twisted her body, the sharpened edge swishing through the air. A step, a thrust, and Zusa’s dagger plunged to the hilt in the man’s chest, piercing his heart. As Renley let out a pained gasp, she put a foot on his sternum and kicked him off her weapon so he could tumble down and die.
From his wall, Muzien clapped in approval.
“A splendid display,” he said.
“I do only what must be done,” Zusa said, cleaning blood off her daggers using one of the dead women’s coats.
“Tell me, the trick you used to vanish and reappear … you both came and went from the darkest parts of the room, where the sunlight could not reach through the windows. Is that a power Karak granted you, a way to make doorways of the darkness?”
Zusa eyed him from across the room. Her hesitance lasted but a moment before she stood and jammed her daggers into her belt.
“It is,” she said, elaborating no further.
Muzien grinned at her as he thought of their first meeting.
“You could have left the chair I bound you to at any time,” he said.
“Yet I didn’t.”
Muzien nodded.
“Indeed, you didn’t.
I shall remember that, Zusa.”
As I shall remember your trick should you ever turn against me.
Muzien walked to the door of the guildhouse, stepping carefully around the bodies so no blood stained his boots, and opened it. Owen waited outside, back purposefully to the entrance as if he was trying to show he’d been in no way listening to the carnage within.
“Back inside,” Muzien said, and Owen followed. Returning to the bodies, he gestured to the seven dead.
“Hang them somewhere public,” he told Owen. “For every one Thren kills, I shall send him seven in return.”
“The rest who belonged to the Spider Guild won’t be happy with this,” said Owen. “Getting killed for something Thren does? They won’t see it as fair.”
“Then they best pray that when Thren inevitably comes recruiting, they turn him in to me before anyone else might die.” Muzien let out a bitter chuckle. “Fair? When in any of their miserable lives has the world been fair?”
As Owen left to gather men to help him carry out the order, another man entered, one of his veteran members, named Cole. He was on the shorter side, face covered with an uneven growth of blond hair.
“Muzien,” he said, bowing low.
“What is it?” Muzien asked.
The man cleared his throat, and the troubled look on his face put a damper on Muzien’s fragile good mood.
“We need you outside the city,” he said.
“For what?”
Cole pointedly glanced to Zusa.
“I think it best that only your ears hear this for now,” he said. “I assure you, Muzien, I’m not wasting your time.”
That serious? Muzien let out a sigh, and he beckoned Zusa over. When she came, he took her hand and raised it to his lips.
“Thank you for a brief moment of sunshine this morning,” he said, kissing her across the knuckles. “Wash the blood off you, and find yourself a change of clothes. Once you’re done, see if you can hunt down Thren Felhorn for me so that these seven are the last who must die because of his stubbornness.”
A quick nod was her answer, and bracing himself for more bad news, Muzien turned to Cole and gestured for him to lead the way.
A Dance of Chaos: Book 6 of Shadowdance Page 9