A Dance of Chaos: Book 6 of Shadowdance

by David Dalglish

  “Then let me go,” she said. “Say I escaped while you were distracted. Do you think it’ll be the first time I have done so? I’m a complication, so let me out, and you can do whatever you wish.”

  The three exchanged a look, and she sensed the unspoken debate flowing through them.

  “You’re right,” Wart said, the first to break the silence and turn her way. “You are a complication, and I’m thinking we remove that complication right now.”

  He drew a dagger from his belt, and Zusa struggled to remain perfectly still and not reveal her growing panic.

  “Don’t be stupid,” she said. “Alyssa Gemcroft will pay a princely sum to have me back. Take us somewhere safe, ransom me to Alyssa, and then flee with your newfound wealth to somewhere neither Thren nor Muzien has a presence.”

  Scar grabbed Wart by the sleeve, halting his approach.

  “The reason we’re holding her is because of the Gemcroft bitch,” he said. “She might not be lying about that ransom.”

  “What?” Wart asked. “We’ve gone from keeping our heads down and waiting for a winner to suddenly negotiating ransom with one of the Trifect? That’s the damn opposite of laying low. I’m not looking to make a profit out of tonight. I just want to live. You can’t spend coin if you’re dead.”

  He pulled his sleeve free, then pointed his dagger at Zusa.

  “Do you think she’s just a normal woman we can drag around? There’s a reason we’ve got all those torches burning about her. She’s some sort of witch or trickster, and the moment those manacles are off her wrists, we’re all dead. I say cut her throat, find a place to hide, and wait until we know exactly what the fuck is going on. If she’s so important to Alyssa, then maybe we can sell Muzien out to her once this all settles down, and we’re ready to run.”

  “No matter who wins tonight, we can claim the winner was the one who killed her,” Jace added.

  Scar glared back and forth, happy with neither. Zusa could sense his willpower breaking. Arms pinned behind her, she could think of no escape if they turned on her, no way to survive. She tried to let her panic fuel her determination, give some sort of influence to her words.

  “You’ll be making a mistake,” she said. “If you let me live, and agree to a ransom, I’ll make no attempt to escape. I’ll have no reason to break my word, not if you don’t break yours.”

  It wasn’t enough. The men were scared, and they didn’t want to take any risks. She tried to think of another angle, but what was there besides coin? She couldn’t offer them her body. They could rape her corpse if they truly wanted to, and besides that, the three seemed more interested in long-term survival than short-term gratification.

  Scar opened his mouth to say something, but then the shrieks from outside came. All three dropped to their knees and put their hands over their ears, wincing as if in terrible pain. Zusa closed her eyes and shivered as the wails washed over her like water. It seemed as if the screamers were mere inches away and on all sides as they let loose their agony. While the others looked baffled, Zusa felt the taint of Karak within each cry, and she did her best to fight against it. Even held captive, she would do all she could to deny her former god and any power he might hold over her.

  Several more times they sounded, each time like needles to her skin. There was no rational thought to the fear, no reason, just the sound of horrible torment and a gut belief that somehow she would soon suffer in the same way. What released the cry, or what Karak could have to do with anything, Zusa had not the slightest clue. It seemed the other three in the room didn’t, either.

  At last the wailing ceased, and the ensuing silence was almost beautiful. Feeling as if she’d just run a dozen miles, her body lifted and fell with her deep breaths as she glared at her captors.

  “You three are all in over your heads,” she told them. “Just flee. Flee from here as fast as you can if you want to see the sunrise.”

  Before any could respond, the door swung inward again, and a woman wearing a long coat of the Sun stepped inside.

  “Soldiers!” she cried. “We need you, now!”

  Scar looked to the others, then nodded at their unspoken question.

  “Go,” he said. “I’ll handle this.”

  The chains holding her hands behind her back were incredibly short and low to the floor, forcing Zusa to kneel. As the rest rushed out the door, and Scar slowly approached while drawing his dagger, Zusa forced her knees up and her feet underneath her. No matter what happened, she was going to fight him. Eyes on his, she watched every step, and she wished she could project her very will as a blade to slay him.

  “This is your own fault, you know,” Scar said. “You turned on Muzien, and you got yourself caught. There’s no one else to blame, so you can spare me that glare.”

  He towered over her, blade in his right hand, light from the torches illuminating the ugly scar across his head.

  “Just make it quick,” she said, every muscle in her body tense.

  Squatting down so his face was even with hers, he smirked, his dagger hovering before her chest.

  “If you insist,” he said.

  Her knees were up before her, covering much of her body, and when Scar thrust the dagger, she hopped as best as her constricted body could manage. As her body began to fall, she jerked her knees all the way up. Instead of burying itself in her heart, the dagger pierced her kneecap before scraping to one side, blood splashing from the long, thin cut. The pain was intense, but Zusa made not a cry, her mind brutally focused so that nothing mattered but the quick, precise movements of her chained body.

  Upon hitting the ground, she snap-kicked, extended her leg as far as it could go. Her toes jammed into Scar’s windpipe, and as much as it hurt her foot, she knew it hurt him far worse. The impact of the hit caused him to fall backward on instinct, but because he’d extended himself for his dagger thrust, the arm holding the weapon was much closer than the rest of his body. Thrusting out her legs again, abdominal muscles screaming from the movements after such long inaction, she closed her thighs around his wrist. Legs curling about his arm, she yanked the man to the floor. He was unable to brace himself, and his head snapped against the wood. She felt his arm slacken in her grip.

  Not dead, she thought. Dazed at best.

  With no way of grabbing the dagger that lay upon her thighs, she released her grip on Scar’s arm and stretched out her foot, trying to use her toes to hook the key ring attached to his belt. She brushed it once, unable to secure it on her big toe, before Scar let out a moan and rolled away from her. Panicking, she tried to kick him in the throat, but he continued rolling. Zusa stared at the dagger between her legs, which had fallen during her attempts. No scenario existed in which she could somehow wield it against her captor.

  “You bitch,” Scar murmured, slowly pushing himself onto his hands and knees. He looked her way, and she saw the already swelling purple bruise on his forehead, saw how bloodshot his eyes were. When he spoke, his voice was raspy and painful to listen to, but he was able to draw breath, which was all that mattered.

  Scar struggled back to a stand, and safely out of kicking distance, he stood over her, panting.

  “You bitch,” he said again, louder, stronger. His eyes, which had been glazed when he first looked her way, regained their focus. His hands curled into fists, and she knew whatever hope she’d had of escape was gone.

  “What sort of demon are you?” Scar asked.

  “Just a trickster or a witch,” she said, praying that her death would be quick. She smiled despite feeling like she wanted to throw up. “I thought you knew that.”

  He looked to the dagger between her legs, decided against it, and instead staggered to her pile of clothes in the corner. He reached into the pile and withdrew one of Zusa’s original daggers. Holding it tightly, blade downward, he stalked back toward her with a sick gleam in his eye.

  “I did,” he said. “You little trickster. Let’s see how well you kick when you have no feet.”


  The door banged open, and both turned to see Wart’s body tumbling down the stairs. Scar froze, suddenly unsure, and then in stepped a soldier wearing a blessedly familiar tabard, sword in hand, fresh blood on both his blade and his armor.

  Scar, apparently coming to a decision, dropped the knife and lifted his hands into the air.

  “I surrender,” he started to say. He never had the chance to finish the offer. The soldier took two steps and slashed out the man’s throat. Body crumpling to the ground, the soldier knelt, retrieved the key, and then went to Zusa’s side as more soldiers tramped down the steps and into the room.

  “Lean forward,” the soldier said. Zusa did so, and he reached behind her and unlocked the manacles. The moment she heard them snap open, she pulled forward and let out a single sob. Her muscles screamed from the movement, but it felt so good to have her arms no longer trapped behind her. Accepting the soldier’s offered hand, she stood on wobbly feet. At the door, the last of the armored men entered, one of them holding Alyssa’s hand as he led her into the room. Zusa felt her breath catch in her throat, and she thought of every single second of the last time she’d seen her.

  “Zusa?” Alyssa asked, her eyes still the solid black they’d been on their previous meeting.

  “I’m here,” Zusa said, voice sounding weak to her own ears.

  She didn’t know what to expect. She didn’t know how her friend would react after rejecting her earlier advances. Tired mind a swirling mixture of exhaustion, shame, and relief, Zusa felt paralyzed with indecision. She almost dropped to one knee in respect to thank Alyssa, but there was no chance to do so.

  Alyssa took two rapid steps, then burst out in a run toward the sound of her voice. Arms flinging open, she hit Zusa at full speed, latching on to her with trembling strength. Zusa caught her, and unable to stand, she fell back a step to brace against the wall. Alyssa’s fingers dug into her back, and tears ran down her face. When Zusa opened her mouth to say something, anything, Alyssa silenced it with a kiss.

  “I’m sorry,” Alyssa whispered when she finally pulled free. “I’m so sorry for all I’ve done, and tonight, I’m making it right. I’m taking Nathaniel, and we’re leaving this damn city. I won’t lose you again, not ever, do you understand me? Of all the things I’ve failed, I won’t let your love be one of them.”

  Tears ran down Zusa’s cheeks as well, and she pressed her palm against Alyssa’s beautiful face, smiled down at her.

  “Thank you,” she said. “Now please, I feel disgusting. Let me change into something clean.”

  Gently pulling from Alyssa’s embrace, she passed through the path the soldiers opened for her to the other side of the room, where her clothes remained piled. Not caring that the men might watch, Zusa hurried out of the simple shirt and pants one of Muzien’s women had put her in, then slipped on the outfit she’d first built in a fit of anger at Alyssa. Doing her best to put such a frustrating memory behind her, she put on the pants, pulled the shirt and cloak over her head, and then tightened the belt. Sliding the daggers into their sheaths, she felt whole, felt herself, and she returned to where Alyssa waited and took her hand.

  “Let’s go home,” Zusa said.

  “It’s not that simple,” Alyssa said as they filed up the stairs and out into the streets wet with rain, which continued to fall. “An army’s come, and Antonil needs my men.”

  Her mercenaries, all five hundred of them, were gathered about where Zusa had been held prisoner, the cellar of a nondescript home. They’d fully surrounded the place, and several hundred were waiting in formation in the street.

  Zusa pulled her hood over her face to protect it from the rain.

  “Where are we going?” she asked as they took their place in the very heart of the formation.

  “To the west gate,” Alyssa answered.

  Their march was slow, and Zusa tried to relax as they made their way. Ahead of them she heard the constant beating of drums, and several times the invaders let out deep-throated war cries that made even the hardiest of men with them seem nervous. Zusa almost suggested that she and Alyssa be dropped off at the mansion, but would either be much safer there than surrounded by the armed mercenaries loyal to her?

  Zusa decided perhaps not. From what she could see, several fires burned throughout the city despite the rain, plumes of dark smoke rising up to the storm clouds. Twice they passed dead bodies lying at the entrance to a home, the scenes carrying the look of executions given the undressed state of the victims.

  “Is this Muzien’s doing?” Zusa asked upon seeing a third.

  “Is what?”

  “The bodies,” Zusa answered, feeling foolish. “There’s dead bodies at the entrances of several homes.”

  Alyssa shrugged.

  “Let the underworld eat each other for all I care. This city is no longer my own.”

  Zusa had a feeling that would be easier said than done, but she did not argue the point. It felt good just to be walking, and to have her arms swinging at her sides instead of locked behind her back. The good feelings lasted until she heard a voice cry out to them from the rooftops.

  “Lady Gemcroft!”

  The squad froze, and dozens of soldiers looked up to where a handsome man with brown eyes and dark hair knelt on a rooftop. Based on the color of his cloak, he was a member of the Ash, one of the twins, she realized.

  “Explain yourself!” one of the commanders of the mercenaries shouted, drawing his blade in anticipation of an ambush. Instead the thief swung down to the ground, unafraid of the many armed men clearly unhappy with his arrival.

  “Lady Gemcroft,” he repeated, getting as close as he could to Alyssa before a wall of soldiers stopped him. “We need you at the southern gate!”

  “Guard Captain Copernus said he needed us at the west,” Alyssa said.

  The soldiers tried to push him aside, but the man resisted.

  “It is not Antonil who needs you,” he cried. “It is your son!”

  Alyssa froze, and Zusa felt her grip on her hand tighten tenfold.

  “My son is safe at home,” she said, but it sounded like even she did not believe it.

  “No, he’s not.”

  Alyssa motioned for her men to make way. Guessing her intent, Zusa led her so that Alyssa was dangerously close to a dangerous man.

  “If this is a lie, I will have my men string you from your innards from the top of a lamppost,” Alyssa said. “Now where is my son?”

  The Ash Guild rogue licked his lips, then grinned.

  “Follow me,” he said. “And tell your men to ready their swords. They’ll be needed.”

  CHAPTER

  28

  Thren finally slowed his run as he neared the explosion caused by one of Muzien’s tiles, and Haern was happy he had. Besides giving Haern a chance to catch his breath, it also meant Thren didn’t plan on just blindly running into what was certainly an ambush.

  “You’re not tired, are you?” Thren asked, looking at him sideways.

  “I can fight for hours more,” Haern said, and he wasn’t lying. “Worry about yourself.”

  Thren shrugged, dismissing the matter as quickly as he’d brought it up. The two were beneath an awning erected before a tannery, momentarily safe from the soft rain. Peering out from underneath, Thren stared at the lingering smoke of the explosion, which continued unabated by the rain.

  “If it’s an ambush, he’ll want to spring it when we’re completely surrounded,” Thren said, musing aloud. “That means his men must be hidden so we do not see them on our approach.”

  “He’ll also have to be ready from all directions,” Haern added. “There’s no way for him to know where we’ll be approaching from.”

  Thren frowned, thinking.

  “They’ll be inside at least two different buildings,” he said. “Possibly even the ones that tile just wrecked. I bet they have a few on the rooftops as well, just decoys to make us think the ambush isn’t as heavily manned as it is.”

  “You act as
if you can read his mind.”

  Thren glared at him.

  “I was his pupil for many years, Watcher. I have a feel for how he thinks. Right now he’s hoping we come rushing in across the rooftops, kill the few up top, and then drop down to the street to investigate. Which means we’re going to do the opposite.”

  Haern joined him in looking at the smoke, which rose on the other side of two more buildings.

  “And what is that?” he asked.

  Thren drew his swords, stretched his back.

  “Stay low, stay together, and scour the nearby buildings while leaving the scouts up top alive and unaware.”

  Haern couldn’t help himself.

  “And what if Muzien anticipated you seeing through his plan and prepared an ambush for us doing just that?”

  Thren let out a snort.

  “Then he’s the god he pretends to be, and trying to outthink him will be like chasing our own tails. Forgive me for not buying into the elf’s legend. He’s not perfect, he’s not infallible. That’s what tonight is all about, Watcher. Tonight we prove that bastard’s mortal.”

  Haern drew his swords, and he saluted his father.

  “To noble goals,” he said, grinning.

  Together they ran, crouching low to keep their profiles as minimal as possible. Upon crossing the street, Haern slid around the side of the tall building, back pressed against it. Given the darkness and the rain, seeing him would be all but impossible. Above him was a window, and he turned about, put a boot on Thren’s offered hands, and then leaped to catch its windowsill. Pulling up, he crouched on the windowsill and peered inside. The room was incredibly dark, but the magic of Haern’s hood let him see as if soft starlight bathed the interior.

  He was in an upstairs storeroom filled with crates stuffed with various metal bits and screws. On the other side was a second window, and peering out of it with his shoulder pressed against the wall was the dark outline of one of Muzien’s thugs. Carefully Haern crept down from the window and then slowly crossed the distance. Given the little light coming from the windows, he knew only sound could give him away, and between the boots Brug had made him and his own lengthy training, no sound would be made. Bathed in darkness, he felt his Watcher persona stirring. Tonight was a night for murder, an art he had long perfected.