A Dance of Chaos: Book 6 of Shadowdance

by David Dalglish

  “You just want in and out?” he asked.

  Nathaniel nodded, earning himself a sigh.

  “Fine. I’ll wait out here. Just make it fast, all right?”

  Nathaniel barged through the door without acknowledging him, his head pounding with urgency. Victor’s old room was incredibly dark, and stumbling to the opposite side, where he saw the vague outline of the curtains, he opened them fully so he might see by the strong moonlight. So strange, he thought. Everything was neat and tidy, and belonged to a man who mere hours ago had been alive, and a new member of his family. Nathaniel hadn’t even figured out how he felt about having Victor as a new father before the man had died. Deep down, he couldn’t decide if it was a blessing or a curse.

  “Where are you?” Nathaniel wondered aloud as he searched. The bed had been stripped of sheets and not remade, the only visible acknowledgment of Victor’s passing. The stand for his armor was empty, for he’d died wearing it. At the foot of his bed was a chest, and when Nathaniel put his hand on its side he felt a surge of electricity spike from his fingertips to his shoulder. When he opened the lid, he was disappointed to see it largely empty, and containing only meager things: belts, cuffs, books, and a razor for shaving.

  Hurry up, he thought, fighting down panic. It had to be somewhere in the room. It had to be, why else would Karak have shown him Victor taking it?

  The gems were valuable, he realized, and it felt strange, for it seemed the thought was not his own, but someone else’s lingering in his mind. What do you do with valuable things?

  “Hide them,” Nathaniel mumbled. Somewhere easy to access, merely out of the way and safe from the prying eyes of servants who might be tempted to pocket them. Under the bed wouldn’t work, for they’d be found when the floor was swept. Same went for the sheets, the mattress, and the pillows. A glance into the closet revealed it barren but for a few changes of clothes and an extra pair of boots.

  Hidden … hidden … where could they be hidden?

  Two soft knocks sounded from the door.

  “I’m getting nervous out here,” Argus said softly from the other side. “Whatever you’re doing, make it quick.”

  Nathaniel returned to the chest, and he dropped to his knees before it. He’d felt so certain it was inside …

  Leaning in closer, he put his hand on the interior of the lid, feeling. There was a give to it, not much, but noticeable. Sliding his fingers around the edge, he found a slight groove. Nathaniel grinned. There. He pushed his finger in and then pulled. The false lid popped free, and tucked neatly into the hollow was the chrysarium, with the nine gems pooled atop it.

  Just the gems, Nathaniel thought, again with that strange feeling that the idea was not quite his own. Taking out the chrysarium, he set it on the floor, put a foot atop the plate, and then one by one yanked the gems free, easily breaking the thin silver chains that held them. Once finished, he replaced the silver plate in the false lid, shut it, and closed the chest. Nathaniel turned his attention to the nine gems, scooping them one by one into his hand. There’d be no way to hide them from Argus, not when they were bulging from his fingers like that. Bribing the guard would be equally futile. Instead he sat on the bed, placed the gems on his stomach, and then wrapped them in his shirt. Argus would know he was carrying something, but that was already a given. What he carried was all that mattered, and so long as the guard did not know, Nathaniel felt certain he’d be safe from the man’s telling his mother.

  Returning to the door, he paused, then tapped his elbow against it.

  “My hand is full,” he whispered.

  Argus opened the door for him, and he looked none too pleased.

  “Got what you wanted?” he asked, glancing at the wrapped bundle made of his bunched shirt. When Nathaniel nodded, the guard shook his head. “I take it you’re not actually hungry, are you? Come on then. Back to your room, before anyone gets worried.”

  Together they padded down the hall, Nathaniel lingering slightly behind his escort. His heart was still pounding, and despite holding the gems of the chrysarium, he felt no safer than before. When they turned the corner to see two hooded men creeping open the door to his room, Nathaniel’s first reaction was not horror, but relief that he’d not lost his mind, and Karak had truly given him warning.

  “Intruders!” Argus screamed, drawing his sword. “All men, inside, intruders!”

  Each of the men wielded long daggers, and the first rushed toward Argus while the second dashed inside, no doubt hoping Nathaniel was still in his bed. Argus stood his ground, blocking the hallway, sword clutched tightly in both hands.

  “Run, Nathan,” he said. “Fast as you can, now run!”

  Nathaniel stepped backward, unable to take his eyes off the two combatants. The hooded man also wore a long coat, and sewn onto its breast was a four-pointed star. His daggers gleamed in the meager light as he whipped them back and forth, hammering them into Argus’s sword. To the guard’s credit, he did not balk at such speed, nor did he let the quicker man guide the combat. John Gandrem had often talked about the advantages of having the longer weapon, plus that of heavier mail, and Argus used both well, willing to let some of the weaker hits through so that he might attempt his own killing thrusts or cuts.

  Several times Nathaniel saw a dagger rake the armor, doing little but scratching the plate. Argus’s sword cut through coat and cloth twice, using high, slanted chops to limit how much his foe could dodge in the hallway. Nathaniel dared think Argus might win, but then the other hooded man came racing out of Nathaniel’s bedroom. Two against one … could Argus endure such odds?

  The instinct to run pulsed inside him, but Karak’s words echoed in his mind, devouring his fear.

  Cry out my name in faith …

  Unraveling his bunched shirt, he let the gems fall into his hand, and upon their touching his skin he saw hints of light glowing from their centers. Closing his fingers, Nathaniel turned his attention back to Argus. The man was bleeding from cuts on his hands and face, and he was steadily retreating against the combined onslaught. The guard spared a glance over his shoulder only once, and seeing Nathaniel still standing there, his eyes bulged.

  “You dumb shit!” he yelled. “Run!”

  Before Nathaniel could do something, not that he knew what that something was, Argus suddenly rushed forward, showing no care for the daggers, no fear for his own life. The cuts came in, slender blades stabbing through the creases of his armor, but at last Argus scored a hit of his own. His long sword came crashing down on the shoulder of one of the men, smashing through bone and slicing to the ribs. As he died, the other hooded man plunged his dagger again and again into Argus’s side, blood pouring through the underpadding.

  Argus collapsed, and twirling his dagger, the remaining intruder stepped over his prone body toward Nathaniel.

  “Thanks for not running,” the man said. “It’ll save us both a lot of trouble.”

  Hand shaking, Nathaniel stared into the shadow of the hood and did his best to hide his fear.

  “Another step, and you’ll die,” he said.

  The man laughed, then dashed forward, dagger thrusting for Nathaniel’s stomach. With confidence that stunned even himself, Nathaniel outstretched his hand, the various gems clutched tightly between his fingers, and let out a cry that would have seemed insane to him six months prior.

  “Karak!”

  The gems flared with life. Before the hooded man could cross the distance, a beam of fire burst forth from their combined center. It struck him square in the chest, slamming him to a halt. The fire surged through his clothes, as if melting into him, then spread. It crawled across his skin like liquid, a steady, inevitable creep. He could not scream, his lungs were so quickly consumed. The coat, his clothes, his flesh: it all burned. As Nathaniel struggled to stand against the steady force pushing against his arm, the power of the gems flared once more, then faded. Of his would-be killer, only the two daggers remained, even his bones consumed. The weapons hit the carp
et with soft thuds, but Nathaniel barely saw them. His mind was far away, lost in a powerful flood of emotions.

  Power. Pleasure. Elation. They’d all surged through him, and for once, he was not slave to his protectors and his nightmares.

  Snapping out of it, he rushed to Argus, who was still alive despite his wounds.

  “What…?” Argus asked, coughing. “What the bloody Abyss was that?”

  “Nothing,” Nathaniel said, feeling the gems warm in his hand. Staring into the guard’s eyes, he let Karak’s power flow. “There was only one assassin, and you killed him. Do you understand?”

  “I understand,” Argus said. “Just one, and I killed the son of a bitch.”

  Nathaniel smiled at him.

  “That you did.”

  Cries of alarm were sounding all throughout the mansion, and Nathaniel knew he had seconds to act. Before anyone else might arrive, he rushed through the open door of his room, hurled the gems of the chrysarium beneath his bed, and then returned to Argus’s side. Zusa arrived only moments later, coming from his mother’s room farther down the hall.

  “Are you all right?” she asked. She wielded daggers in each hand, and fresh blood dripped from their blades.

  “He needs help,” Nathaniel said, putting his hand on Argus’s shoulder. “He saved me.”

  Argus tried to smile, but the pain and blood loss were too much, and he slipped into unconsciousness. Zusa shouted for others to come, then put her hand on Nathaniel’s shoulder.

  “Go to Alyssa,” she told him. “Get to where it’s safe.”

  He obeyed, and when he entered his mother’s room, which was rapidly filling up with soldiers, she flung her arms around him.

  “I’m so glad you’re all right,” she said, holding him tightly against her.

  “I’m fine,” Nathaniel whispered, and despite everything, he felt perfectly calm. “Really, I am.”

  She wouldn’t understand, of course, and as she planted kisses on his cheek, he let his mind wander to the gems. Waiting for him. Protecting him.

  “We’re safe,” he told her, voice soft but firm. “We’re safe, I promise.”

  The freedom was invigorating, and a terrible weight left his heart. His family was no longer at the mercy of the underworld and all its cruel masters, for it was safe in Karak’s strong hands.

  CHAPTER

  17

  Night had fallen, and with it came a sense of change, an electric tension that made the tips of Thren’s fingers tingle. Muzien had failed, his grand display of power crumbling under pressure from all sides. The people sensed whatever war was being waged in the shadows was not yet done, and the increased tenacity of the guards only verified that fact. For once, men and women kept the four-pointed star hidden as they went about their lives.

  Good, thought Thren as he approached a quiet portion of the southern wall. Let them remember who Muzien fled from. Let them remember who once ruled the underworld before the Sun Guild’s rise.

  The rumor had floated throughout dozens of the city’s taverns, a message that eventually reached Thren’s ears: Muzien sought an audience with the former master of the Spider Guild.

  “Tell him I’ll meet him along the southern wall, just shy of the gate,” Thren had told a member of the Sun. “And tell him to come alone.”

  On his way he passed through the rubble and ruin of the city center. Hanging from the ancient statue in the middle of the fountain, a rope about his neck, was the king’s adviser, Gerand. The symbol of the Sun was carved into his naked chest, the blood dried and flaking. Thren paused only a moment to watch the body swing before continuing.

  Casualties of war, he thought. Such a shame. He was useful.

  As Thren stopped before the wall, he scanned its upper reaches, unsure if Muzien had met his demand to keep the rest of his guild away. Not that the elf would feel the need for help. If it came to a battle, both of them knew Muzien would win. Tapping the amulet beneath his shirt for confidence, Thren smiled, reminding himself that not all battles were won or lost by the edge of a sword.

  Hardly any time passed before Muzien arrived, coming not from the wide, empty street but instead from atop the wall itself. With a flourish of his long coat, Muzien landed softly despite the great height, facing Thren from a mere twenty feet away. Unlike on their previous meetings, Thren felt confidence upon seeing his old master, and he made sure Muzien knew it.

  “Glad to know you came alone,” he said. “I was worried you’d feel the need for an escort after yesterday’s humiliation.”

  Muzien’s blue eyes burned with anger, but the elf kept his voice calm, his smile pleasant.

  “Am I in need of protection?” he asked. “Certainly you are no threat to me.”

  Thren chuckled.

  “Proud, even to the end. You wanted me, Muzien, and now I’m here. Would you care to tell me why?”

  The elf crossed his arms behind his back, and he tilted his head to one side, analyzing his former student.

  “Despite having the entire city under my control, you still resist me,” he said. “Despite having failed at the task I sent you here to complete, you act as if you never failed at all. You confuse me, Thren, and the more I learn of you, and what you’ve done, the more confused I become. So here I am. I come to you as I should have when I first set foot in Veldaren: not with demands, nor condemnation, but merely questions.”

  “A noble offer,” Thren said. “Though I wonder why I should give you even that. You have given me nothing but disrespect and insults, and only now that you’re losing do you come to talk.”

  Muzien shook his head.

  “Your ambush, outnumbering and surrounding me, still failed to kill me or crush my guild. Do not think you have won, Thren. You are still a nuisance, but one whose cost has become too great to ignore. I took as many lives as I lost yesterday, and I have far more lives to spare than you.”

  Thren chuckled.

  “Yes, you did handle our ambush masterfully. I saw what you did with those tiles of yours, by the way, sending in men with hammers just after Victor’s soldiers crossed over them. Very clever.”

  Muzien’s face seemed to darken in the moonlight.

  “So you are aware of the danger the tiles possess?”

  Thren shrugged, deciding that was a game he no longer needed to play. Muzien had to know who was in control, to see whose hands truly held the fate of the city.

  “Of course I am,” he said. “This is my city, not yours, remember?”

  Muzien’s dark hand fell down to the hilt of one of his swords, then hesitated.

  “I thought you must be the one,” he said. “The Watcher is too weak of a fool to destroy everything if he cannot save it, but you … you still have a shred of the willpower I once saw in you as a child. Did you play Luther against me, or were you merely his puppet as well?”

  “Luther played us all,” Thren said, chuckling. “But I’d say you were played worse. I hold the key, Muzien. He gave it to me before I took his life. With but a whisper, I can bathe all of Veldaren with fire and destruction. You say you haven’t lost yet. I say otherwise. I’m the one holding all the power, not you. Right now, you’re just one of thousands who’d be caught in the blast.”

  “Luther gave it to you,” he said. “Then you’ve had it from the moment you set foot into Veldaren … yet you never spoke a word. Why have you kept this a secret, Thren? Is your pride so great you hoped to defeat me without resorting to such threats?”

  Thren clenched his jaw tight. That was an answer he could not give. At play here was not just the city, but also Thren’s own echoing legacy. If Muzien had left immediately upon Thren’s return, then things would have returned to the way they’d always been. But now the Watcher fought alongside him. Now the Watcher truly listened with open ears, and looked with open eyes. Sometimes fear and desperation were the best teachers.

  “My reasons are my own,” Thren said. “Luther was a fool, and now his weapon is mine. It’s time you leave.”

>   The darkened hand clenched into a fist, and Muzien openly glared.

  “This madness is beyond even your limits. What is it you truly want, Thren? Do you want to be my heir again, and take your place at my side? Do you wish to rule as you did before, or usurp the throne I have carved for myself the past few months? Tell me. Let me hear it from your own lips.”

  Thren gestured north, to the distant gate through the city’s wall.

  “I want you gone,” he said. “I will build a legacy for myself, and it will be free of your shadow. Go back to Mordeina. Either that, or stay, and burn with all the rest.”

  Muzien drew a sword, but before he could take a step, Thren pulled the golden amulet marked by a roaring lion from beneath his shirt and held it beside his lips.

  “One word,” he said, and he pointedly glanced to his left, where less than ten feet away was one of Muzien’s many tiles of the Sun. “One word, and we’re both dead. I’d suggest keeping your temper in check.”

  The elf hesitated, then with another glare, he jammed the sword back into its scabbard.

  “You still haven’t won,” he said. “This is merely a stalemate. For all your boasting, you won’t destroy the city and end your chance of ruling it.”

  “I beg to differ,” Thren said. “If you stay, I will sunder the land. Better Veldaren as ash and dust than not in my hands, Muzien. I think that’s a sentiment you understand all too well. Your situation is hopeless. So unless you want to be annihilated, accept defeat, and get out of my city. There is no way you can win this, and a hundred ways you will lose.”

  This was it, his final moment of victory. There was nothing Muzien could do to stop him. Every bit of power was in Thren’s hands. With but a word, the elf died. How could he possibly resist him now? The Sun Guild would retreat from Veldaren, and in its vacuum, Thren would rise up to fill the void. He looked to his former master, seeking that fear in his eyes, that defeat, but instead Muzien grinned like a madman and laughed in his face.

  “Hopeless?” he asked. “Far, far from it. You have but one grand weapon, one you cannot wield with subtlety, nor precision. You have no middle ground, no repeated use. Your only threat is to destroy the city you seek to rule solely to spite me. I believe you’re insane enough to do it, but not like this. You want to play games, Thren? You want to dance? Then go ahead. Continue with your schemes. Take the city from me. Earn your place. Earn your legacy. The only thing you accomplish by using that amulet is admitting your failure. You haven’t won, Thren. You’ve only changed the rules of the game.”