A Dance of Chaos: Book 6 of Shadowdance

by David Dalglish

  She heard Sef’s boots clap together, and she assumed he’d bowed, so she made the smallest of nods in return.

  “May you have a pleasant evening, milady,” he said. “At your leave?”

  Another wave, and he left her alone in the dining hall. Sipping more of her green tea, Alyssa tried to fight down her bubbling concern for her friend. She’d heard nothing of Zusa since she fled their last awkward encounter. Given how she was going back in disguise into the underworld of Veldaren, it made sense that it might take more than a few days to finish her efforts, as well as get away safely. But even as Alyssa told herself this, she did not believe it, not for the slightest second. Was she dead? Wounded? In hiding, her identity revealed? Alyssa didn’t know, and she didn’t want to know. Despite her worry, at least she could still lie to herself, and believe that Zusa still lived.

  One of the doors to the dining hall opened, and Alyssa tilted an ear toward it.

  “Mistress, you have a visitor,” said a servant. “Guard Captain Antonil Copernus.”

  “Bring him to me,” she said, ignoring the tightening of her throat. What news might Antonil bring? Did he anticipate the carnage that Sef wanted her to unleash? Or perhaps he’d discovered news he wished to deliver personally, perhaps about a dead servant he knew was close to her …

  “Greetings, Lady Gemcroft,” she heard Antonil say from the door, and she smiled as sweetly as she could.

  “Greetings, Antonil,” she said. “Please, come join me, and if you have the time, I’ll have a servant fetch you something to eat or drink.”

  “Time is something I sadly have little to spare,” Antonil said, his voice traveling closer. “I … forgive me, I should have come sooner to extend my condolences. Victor was a good man, and a better man than this city deserved. I am sorry for your loss.”

  Awkwardness bubbled up inside her, the same awkwardness she’d been struggling with since Victor’s death. Should she feign sorrow? Those close to her knew there’d been no real romance between her and Victor. How many tears were appropriate? What words should she say about the man she’d murdered in secret? She’d found carrying on had served her best, for her eyes spoke volumes, the sorrow in their darkness conveying far more than she ever could.

  “Thank you,” Alyssa said, keeping her voice flat. “And yes, he was a good man.”

  Antonil coughed, and she realized he was pacing before her just as Sef had. Did it have something to do with her eyes, or was it just a military sort of thing?

  “I wish I had a better way to broach this subject, but I don’t, so forgive my abruptness,” Antonil said. “Given the situation, I will keep this quick. I believe an army of orcs from the Vile Wedge approaches our city, and I need as many soldiers as possible to man the walls and hold the gates. Your husband once promised me aid should I ever need it, and I come to you praying you will accept a similar obligation.”

  Alyssa’s mouth dropped open, and she blinked multiple times across her glass eyes.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I know it sounds insane, because it is, but it’s also true. I expect them to arrive tomorrow night, leaving us very little time. I’ve made what preparations I can, and I’m coming to you in private in hopes of preventing panic from spreading throughout the city. With the men I have, I can’t even guard the entirety of the wall. My hope is to keep them near the gates, where the fighting will most likely be. Even then, my soldiers on the ground will be terribly few. I need men with experience, who know how to fight and won’t break in fear. I need your mercenaries, Alyssa, as many as you might spare. If a gate falls…”

  Alyssa held up a hand, stopping him.

  “Servants should be waiting just outside the door,” she said. “Order one to fetch Sef Battleborn. I want him to hear this.”

  As Antonil did so, Alyssa reached for her tea, then decided against it. What madness was this, she wondered? An army of wild brutes? Did they not have enough to worry about in Veldaren? When Antonil returned, he sat opposite her at the table, and she heard him chuckle.

  “You know,” he said. “A drink might not be a bad idea after all.”

  Beyond thanking the servant who came with his glass, Antonil said little as they waited. Alyssa brooded silently, thinking over the numbers of her remaining forces. Three hundred of Victor’s had survived their attempt to ambush Muzien, and they’d combined with the two hundred house soldiers and private mercenaries Alyssa had carried prior to the attempt. A significant fighting force indeed, but could she risk sending so many? What happened if Muzien considered the chaotic battle the opportune time to enact his own revenge?

  The door opened, and Sef announced himself before stepping in.

  “Antonil, I don’t know if you’ve met before,” said Alyssa, “but this is Sef Battleborn, former soldier and friend of Victor’s, and my newly appointed master of mercenaries. Go ahead. Tell him what you’ve told me.”

  Antonil repeated his warning. When he finished, she heard Sef laugh.

  “Well then,” he said. “It seems fate has a fucking sense of humor when it comes to timing. What is it you want from us?”

  “I want you and your men to hold the western gate,” Antonil said. “If Alyssa agrees, of course.”

  “Alyssa?”

  The master of the Gemcroft household sighed. Despite the weight she felt bearing down on her, the guilt and the frustration, she knew what was right.

  “Every soldier at my disposal is yours,” she said. “If you are correct, and an army marches against us, I promise my men will be there without fail.”

  “Excellent,” Antonil said, rising from his seat. “Your generosity may save thousands of lives, and I cannot thank you enough.”

  Alyssa dismissed such praise with a wave of her hand.

  “I’m not here to receive glory for doing the right thing,” she said. “Nor do I act selflessly. I live within these walls, too.”

  “Perhaps,” Antonil said. “But I thank you nonetheless. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.” She heard a rattle of armor, something, hands perhaps, clapping together.

  “Hope to fight with you soon,” she heard Sef say.

  “You as well.”

  More rattling, and then the door opened, leaving Sef alone with Alyssa.

  “I take it my scouting of the streets will be put on hold?” Sef said once Antonil was gone.

  “I see why Victor kept you around,” she said, smiling despite herself. “You’re so skilled at deciphering the obvious.”

  Another knock on the door, followed by a servant’s clearing her throat and calling Alyssa’s name. Alyssa fought down another sigh. What now?

  “Yes?” she asked.

  “I found … it seems someone left you a … gift, milady,” said one of their younger servants. Alyssa frowned, confused. A gift from whom?

  “Bring it here,” she told Sef. “And what is it?”

  Sef’s heavy footsteps thumped over to the door.

  “It’s a small box,” he said.

  “Fascinating,” Alyssa said dryly. “And inside?”

  She heard a popping of wood, followed by a grunt.

  “Well?” she asked.

  Still Sef hesitated.

  “It’s … it’s a note,” he said. “And a lock of hair.”

  Alyssa’s heart skipped, and she felt the room about her suddenly closing in. Reaching out her hand, she accepted the lock, felt its smoothness on her palm.

  “Read it,” she said, voice falling to a whisper.

  Sef cleared his throat, then began reading aloud.

  “‘The game is just starting, Alyssa, not ending. Your turn. Do you still have the heart to play?’”

  Alyssa lifted the lock of short, soft strands, twirled them in her fingers.

  “What color is it?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

  “Black,” Sef said. “It’s Zusa’s, isn’t it?”

  Tears gathered at the bottoms of her glass eyes as Alyssa clutched the lock tightly in her
fist.

  “Another change in plans,” she said. “I want dozens of your men scouring the city looking for her. Spend coin, break bones, and cut off as many fingers as it takes to loosen people’s tongues. I want to know where she is, Sef, and I want to know now.”

  “If it’s the Sun Guild, people don’t talk, not even…”

  Alyssa bolted from her seat, and reaching out, she found the collar of his shirt and then yanked him closer.

  “Make them talk,” she said, staring at him with her black eyes.

  Sef cleared his throat.

  “This may take time. What about Antonil’s request? What shall we do when the army arrives?”

  “For his sake, pray we find Zusa before then.”

  “As you wish,” he said. “But I have to ask … what makes you think she is not already dead?”

  Alyssa let him go, and she lovingly brushed the lock of hair with her fingers.

  “Because if she were, Muzien would not have sent me her hair,” Alyssa said. “He’d have sent me her head. Now go. You have a job to do.”

  Sef bowed, then stomped away, already shouting orders before the door to the dining hall closed. Alyssa remained standing, her body shaking, her blood turning to fire in her veins. Teeth clenched, she was flooded with such shocking strength it felt like she awoke for the first time in ages.

  “How dare you?” she whispered, remembering Muzien’s arrogance when he’d come to visit her in her bedroom. “You think you can take those close to me? You think you can escape my reach?”

  She’d once threatened to burn the city to the ground in her quest for vengeance for her son. That same desire flooded her, and with each passing moment it grew. Striking a fist against the table beside her, she felt a plate break, a shard of it cutting into her hand. Grabbing the plate, she flung it at the wall, heard its satisfying shatter.

  “I will not have my love wielded as a weapon against me,” she vowed with a soft whisper. “I will not let another piece of my life die as part of a game. This ends now, I swear it.”

  Your turn, echoed the words of Muzien’s note, spoken in Sef’s baritone voice. Despite her doubt and exhaustion she’d revealed to Zusa, despite all her broken words, the swallowing darkness and parade of betrayals, and despite the blood that dripped down her wrist to stain her dress, Alyssa found herself smiling.

  Do you still have the heart to play?

  As it turned out, the answer was a resounding yes.

  CHAPTER

  24

  All things considered, Deathmask had seen stranger ways to request a meeting, but this was probably his favorite. The message was in a back alley of the Ash Guild’s sliver of remaining territory, written using the blood of a dead member of the Sun, whose body lay slumped directly beneath.

  Tonight. Same cemetery.

  It was signed with the Watcher’s eye. Deathmask chuckled, then shrugged his shoulders.

  “Well now,” he muttered. “How could I refuse such a thoughtful invitation?”

  After gathering the rest of his guild, Deathmask returned to the cemetery where Thren had detailed his plan to overthrow Muzien and his Sun Guild. Finding it empty, Deathmask leaned against the slender tree he’d hidden in, Veliana at his side.

  “We’ll scout outside,” Nien said.

  “Would hate to have an ambush,” Mier said.

  Deathmask waved them off.

  “You don’t think this would actually be a trap, do you?” Veliana asked as the two raced off in opposite directions.

  “Course not, but it will give them something to do.”

  “Why?” asked a voice from above them. “Do you think it will take me that long to arrive?”

  Deathmask chuckled as the Watcher leaped down from the highest branches of the tree, landing softly before them with a flourish of his cloaks.

  “Cute,” he said. “I guess I should have thought to check my own hiding place.”

  The Watcher was usually an amusing one to banter with, but not tonight.

  “I need to talk to you about tomorrow,” he said.

  “There’s really not much to talk about,” Deathmask said. “Thren gives his signal, whatever that is, and then we go about slaughtering everyone dumb enough to keep the symbol of the Sun on their person. If you’re worried about us having second thoughts, I assure you…”

  “That’s not it,” the Watcher said, cutting him off. “I don’t want you to aid us in overthrowing Muzien. There’s somewhere else I think you’ll be needed more.”

  Deathmask glanced at Veliana, who lifted an eyebrow to show she was equally confused.

  “All right,” he said. “And where might that be?”

  “Along the walls. There’s an army of orcs approaching, and I think we’ll be better suited with you using your magic to defeat them.”

  It took a bit more effort than it should have to hide his surprise.

  “Well then,” he said. “That’s … unexpected. And how did an orc army arrive at our doorstep without anyone noticing?”

  The Watcher shifted where he stood, something Deathmask caught as a sign of unease.

  “We’ve known for a few days,” he said. “We’ve been trying to keep it to ourselves until people must be informed.”

  “I’m glad you consider us so vital to have waited so long,” Veliana said, echoing Deathmask’s own sentiments.

  “Few days or one, it still is ridiculous,” Deathmask said. “How did they get so near?”

  “From what I was told, a necromancer is with them, guiding them and keeping them under control. He is the one I fear might give us trouble. Tarlak will do what he can, but with your help, I feel confident together you two cannot be defeated.”

  Suddenly Deathmask’s pleasant night wasn’t so pleasant. Frowning, he tried to hold back the bite to his words.

  “You know nothing of who this necromancer is or what he can do, but you’re confident we can handle him? I’m not sure your knowledge of arcane and divine magic is able to fill a thimble, let alone make such judgments.”

  “I’m only trying to do my best,” the Watcher said. “I’d like the people of this city to survive this whole mess relatively unscathed. The least you could do is think of others for once.”

  A bit of purple flame sparkled from Deathmask’s fingertips.

  “You’ve delivered your message,” he said. “Now leave.”

  The Watcher hesitated a moment, then bowed low. Without another word, he dashed toward the exit of the cemetery. Deathmask didn’t bother to watch him go, instead marching toward the western section where the newest graves were dug. Given the events of the past few months, there were more than enough to choose from.

  “What are you doing?” Veliana asked him as she followed.

  “Finding myself a body.”

  Identifying a fresh grave was easy enough, and he crouched before it, fingers sinking into the loose soil. There was power in the bodies of the deceased, power he would use.

  “What bothers you so?” Veliana asked as she stood beside him, arms crossed over her chest. “A few thousand orcs with no real way to breach the gates or climb the walls should be easy prey given the city’s defenses.”

  “It’s not the orcs,” Deathmask said as he felt the veil of magic slipping over his eyes. “It’s the necromancer who’s with them. I must confirm it for myself.”

  Veliana asked him something else, but her words came as if from a thousand miles away, stolen by a rushing wind that grew louder and louder as Deathmask’s mind sank into the darkness. He saw nothing, just swirls of gray and black, until they opened up like an eye he might peer through. Around him were trees, tall husks of gray, their color sapped away by the magic of his sight. Marching through those trees, weapons swinging casually from their hands, were orcs. Their skin, already gray, looked ashen in his sight. They sang some sort of marching song, the words warbled in his ears. Deathmask felt an innate sense of location, somewhere far north of the city.

  Where are you? Deathmas
k thought as he flew through the forest as if he were a mosquito, lifting, dropping, weaving through trees and brush and orcs. His direction was the lone source of color he saw, a rift of red and purple visible through the trees. Closer and closer, with a speed that even birds could not dream of achieving, he approached the necromancer. Deathmask could hardly believe it, but he was nervous, and caught himself almost wishing to end the spell before arriving. Such a realization about himself was insulting enough to keep him going, magical sight bursting through the very trunk of a tree to behold the leader of the orc horde.

  He wore a simple robe, like that of a priest, its color a stunning black. Shimmering over that black, like ice over a tree branch in winter, was a swirling aura of color that pulsed among red, purple, and blue. The sight of it made Deathmask sick to his stomach. Looking to the face beneath the shrouded hood, he expected a man or woman. Instead he saw a rotted husk. Its skin was thin and peeled back, like a corpse left out for days in the sun. No lips covered its teeth, which, in a strange contrast to the decrepit state of the rest of its body, were a clean white. Just peeking out from the arms of the robe were skeletal fingers, and it seemed its fingertips were constantly aflame.

  Most notable of all were the eyes. There were none, not such as any normal person might recognize. Instead they were swirling orbs of fire burning within the recesses of the skull, tightly compacted and releasing not a hint of smoke. Red veins of magic pulsed within them, encircling the fire, constantly giving it life.

  And then those eyes met Deathmask’s. The skull tilted to one side, as if curious.

  Begone, it said, and when it opened its mouth, it had no tongue, just a dank black hole from which the deep, rumbling speech escaped. At those words Deathmask felt a horrific jabbing pain throughout his mind, and with a scream he fell back, hands pulling away from the earth to end his spell. For long agonizing moments, he lay there, staring up at the night sky as pain pulsed throughout his head as if he were in the grip of the worst migraine in the history of mankind. It took several minutes before color returned, and several minutes after that, he felt capable of speech.