A Dance of Blades

chapter 21

“Are you prepared to do what you must?” Deathmask asked her.

“I am,” said Veliana.

“You’ll have to kill many of them. They were once your friends, your guildmates. Maybe you even considered them family. They won’t understand, and their loyalties are anyone’s guess. This is Garrick’s guild, and you’re nothing but a feeble woman who got in his way. Last time I ask, can you stick a knife in them, every one of those familiar faces?”

“Not so familiar anymore,” she said. She tapped her sickly, bloodied eye. “Too many hate me for this. I’ve heard their whispers, their insults of my ugly mark. I’m damaged beauty. They never loved me, not like they loved James Beren. This guild may or may not be mine, but more than ever I know it should not be Garrick’s. If he sold his soul to Thren, then he betrayed every shred of James’s memory. Anyone who stays at his side is no friend of mine.”

Deathmask smiled at her.

“I want to do something for you,” he said. “This will take just a moment, but I hope you’ll appreciate it.”

He put a finger to his eye, the same as Veliana’s injured, and then whispered words of a spell. They seemed simple enough, and then came the change. His iris changed from a dark brown to a bloody red.

“This is what I think of your ugly mark,” he said. “I’ll proudly bear it so long as you stay with me. I will never cast aside your loyalty, for I’ve been cast aside enough in my own life.”

Veliana felt strangely touched by the gesture.

“One day,” she said, “I hope to believe you.”

They turned their attention to the unassuming building before them. The rooms appeared dark, but both knew of the lower expansion below ground, no doubt housing the last remnants of the Ash Guild. A few men and women wandered past them on the streets, several with dead eyes and drunken gaits. To Veliana, it seemed like the entire city was suffering a massive hangover, a crude comparison given how many of her kind had been mercilessly butchered. So far Deathmask hadn’t explained how he planned on dealing with all the mercenaries, but she had no choice but to trust him. Patting her daggers, she told him to move, and she would follow.

“Keep your hood low,” he told her. “Surprise is everything. Theatrics can turn even the most ordinary of foes into something fearsome, and you are no ordinary foe.”

They approached the door. A single thief leaned against it, looking like he’d been up for two days straight. Through bleary eyes he watched their arrival, recognizing Deathmask when they were almost within striking distance.

“Hey, we thought Thren—”

Veliana cut his throat before he finished the sentence. As his body fell, she glanced to Deathmask, and her look was clear. Look what I can do. Do not fear my loyalty. They are no longer friends of mine.

“Atta girl,” he said, his mismatched eyes sparkling behind his mask.

When she tried the door, it was both locked and barred. Deathmask gently moved her aside, put his hands upon the wood, and closed his eyes.

“Theatrics,” he whispered.

His hands shimmered between red and black, and then the door exploded inward in a great shower of splinters, accompanied by a shockwave that thumped against Veliana’s chest with enough force to make her catch her breath. Deathmask stepped through the dust and debris into a small entry room. Two men sat on either side of the doorway, their hands raised over their faces. Specks of blood dotted their clothes, damage from the shrapnel. Veliana rushed the one on the right, thrusting a dagger into his chest before he could react. Deathmask waved a hand at the other, who suddenly dropped to his knees, gagging. Before she could see the total effects of the spell, Veliana stabbed his heart.

“Sometimes quick is better,” she said.

Deathmask pushed open the second door, and they stepped into the last remnants of the Ash Guild, all gathered from the various corners of Veldaren. There were twenty of them, sitting on chairs and pillows and looking miserable. Veliana felt both anguish and elation in seeing Garrick among them. Part of her had hoped he’d died in the fire, for he deserved nothing better, but at least his survival meant that he would be hers, all hers.

“Members of the Ash,” Deathmask said, screening Veliana with his body. He wanted to maximize the impact of revealing her, she knew. A smirk crossed her lips. They all thought her dead, Garrick included. How his mouth would drop, how wide his eyes would go… All around, the thieves stood and drew their weapons, for though Deathmask was one of them, there was something dangerous about his arrival, in the way he walked, the way he addressed them.

“You,” Garrick said, pointing a shaking finger. “You turned the Spiders against us, didn’t you? Why else would they let you live?”

“I am not the one who went into bed with the Spider thinking I might not get bitten,” Deathmask said. “This destruction is your doing, all your doing. Listen to me, guildmembers! He sold your souls to Thren Felhorn, all so he might sleep well at night.”

“You lie!”

About a third of the men around them were exchanging glances, and their daggers and clubs lowered. Veliana watched and waited. She had to be fast. The first attacker needed to die immediately if she were to discourage the rest. When it came to a battle of personalities between Deathmask and Garrick, there would be no contest. At some point, Garrick would call an end to it before he lost completely.

“How else would you have maintained leadership?” Deathmask asked. “Why else would the guilds have made peace with you, even though your position was weak? Weeks ago you made your pact, and one by one the other guilds realized and left you alone. Only the Hawks attacked, and only once. Thren punished them severely for that, didn’t he?”

More mumblings about them. A couple glared at Garrick. These were the rumblings of treason, Veliana knew. Normally such accusations would be whispered ear to ear, allowed to fester and grow. But the Trifect had pressed too hard. If they were to survive, they needed new leadership, and now.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Garrick said. He had drawn his dagger, but it remained at his side, as if he were afraid to even point it at Deathmask.

“Come now. We all know whose guild this truly was, before it was Thren’s. It was Veliana’s, not yours, never yours. That is why you wanted her dead.”

Louder grumblings, though many were disparaging her name. She felt anger simmer in her heart. Even now, they would deny her work, her sweat, her toil. The gods damn them all.

“She died because she tried to kill you, that’s all,” Garrick said.

Veliana stepped to Deathmask’s side and pulled her hood back. She smiled, and the look on Garrick’s face was everything she’d hoped it’d be.

“I never died,” she said. Her voice was soft, but even a whisper could have been heard in that suddenly quiet room. “But you will, you traitor. You sold our soul to Thren. I can never forgive you.”

She flung herself at him, not caring for her safety, nor the greater numbers. She would have his head, and this time, no one would stop her. Garrick cried out for aid, and several thieves jumped in her way. Spinning away from a club, she gutted one on her left, rolled along the ground, and hamstrung another as she stood. The one with the club tried to smash her back, but she twirled again, her spine bending in an unnatural angle so the swing passed above her breasts. And then she was up again, stabbing him repeatedly, kicking away his corpse with seven bleeding holes in his chest.

“Make your choice!” Deathmask cried out. It seemed many had. They turned on the others, striking at those who moved toward him. The room was now in chaos, and within it, Veliana thrived. She kicked out the legs of one rushing for Deathmask, burying a dagger through his ribs as his body hit the ground. Pulling it free, she flicked blood off it toward Garrick, who stood with his back to the wall, his dagger held before him.

“Where’s Then to protect you now?” she asked as she stalked him, her daggers hungry in her hands. “Where’s the men who would rather rape me than serve under my leadership? Where’s your guild, Garrick?”

A blinding flash burst from behind her, a spell of some sort from Deathmask. In its light she rushed Garrick, her knee leading. It slammed into his crotch while she swatted away his dagger. Her other dagger’s hilt struck his forehead. She rammed an elbow into his mouth, then slashed across his face when she pulled back. Blood spurted from a gash across the bridge of his nose. His cry of pain was a garbled, weak thing.

“Now you’re the example,” she whispered to him. She stabbed her dagger into his throat, twisted it left, then right, and finally yanked it free. Blood splashed across her chest, but she didn’t mind. At his death, much of the chaos slowed, for it seemed there was little point left in fighting. She glanced around and saw all eyes upon either her or Deathmask. Only ten remained of the initial twenty.

“Those who would betray their loyalties deserve nothing less,” Deathmask said, kneeling beside Garrick’s body. He put a hand on his head, which burst into flame. The fire did not burn him. The body blackened and smoked, and in seconds it was nothing but a pile of ash. Taking a handful, Deathmask stood and flung it into the air. It revolved around his head, hiding his visage, making him look like some strange monster instead of a man.

“I am the Ash now. None of you are worthy of my leadership. You killed for me, and for that, I spare your lives. Be gone. Throw down your colors, or prepare to have them stained with your blood.”

It seemed none there had the will to challenge the blood-soaked Veliana and her master. Her heart panged at their exit, feeling like the last remnants of the guild she and James had built were gone, but Deathmask had promised her something greater, and she had to trust him. She scanned those exiting, looking for a set of faces, men who had remained out of the fight like the sensible opportunists they were.

“Nier, Mien,” she said as they left. “You two, stay.”

The twins looked back. They had pale skin, dark hair, and brown eyes that seemed to twinkle with subdued amusement.

“Yes?” they asked.

Deathmask approached them, and he offered his hand.

“Veliana has vouched for your skills. Would you remain with me, and fight not for the Ash Guild that was, but for what it might yet be?”

The two glanced about the room, as if to point out the obvious to them.

“What guild?” Mier asked.

“There are only us four,” said Nien.

“And as long as the four of us live, there will always be an Ash Guild,” Deathmask said. “You have seen what we can do. Join us. We need your strength tonight. The mercenaries must be shown that we will not roll over and die for them.”

The twins shared a look, and Veliana swore some sort of mental conversation was going on between them that she was not privy to. Then they accepted Deathmask’s offered hand and shook it.

“Why not?”

“Could be fun.”

“Indeed,” Deathmask said, grinning behind his mask of cloth and ash. Veliana shook her head, wiped the blood clean from her daggers. She spat on what little was left of Garrick’s remains.

*

Haern sat atop the roof of the Eschaton’s home and watched the sun dip below the wall. His elbow rested upon his knee, his chin on his hand. Tarlak’s words haunted him, and no matter how hard he tried, he could not shake them from his head.

I don’t care who you think you are, or how good you might be, he’d said. You’re a danger to me, and a danger to my sister. I made you an offer, and I won’t go back on it now, but you better put some serious thought into it, because otherwise you’re just a renegade killer with a vendetta. There’s no reason to house you then, no point. How many more will come storming through my windows, come kicking down my doors? I’m terrified the secret’s out, Haern, or it will be soon. What do you expect me to do? Fight for you? Protect you? Give me a reason. Any.

Haern had none to offer. His neck had flushed, and he’d shook his head. What could he say? I’m sorry a mercenary broke into your home, hurt you, your sister, and your friends, all while trying to find me? He’d always thought he was so careful, but he’d slipped up as usual. What had Senke said? It didn’t pay to be his friend. Yet again, that remained painfully true.

He’d left, but lacked the heart to go far, so up to their rooftop he went. Part of it was because he didn’t want to leave them, to say goodbye to Delysia and Senke forever. Part of him also feared that the giant man with the painted face might return, and if he did, he wanted to be there, waiting.

“Haern?”

He looked down from the roof to see Delysia peering up at him.

“Will you come down?” she asked. He shook his head. “Then can you help me up?”

Sighing, he grabbed the side of the roof with one hand and hung. He offered her his other hand, and she took it, for reasons he’d never understand, still trusting him. Using him as a guide, she stepped on a window ledge, then with his aid, jumped up to catch the roof. Once she climbed all the way up, he swung himself up to join her.

“I think a set of stairs might be easier,” she said, brushing off her priestess robes.

“And defeat the whole point of me coming up here,” Haern said, immediately regretting it. Why should he snap at her? Her silence showed the comment stung, and he tried to think of something to say.

“Is Senke all right?” he asked.

“I stopped his internal bleeding, and I sealed the wound best I could. He’ll be sore for days, but yes, he’ll be fine.”

He walked back to the center of the roof and sat down. She sat beside him, and immediately he felt himself pulled back to the past. Would Thren arrive once more, death in his smile and a crossbow in his hand?

“I’m sorry about my brother,” she said. “He can be a bit of a hothead.”

“No kidding. Why’d you join up with him, anyway? Mercenary work doesn’t seem suited to you.”

“Because he asked,” she said, as if it should have been obvious. “When I left the priesthood, they gave me back my father’s wealth from their safekeeping. It wasn’t much, not after it’d been used to settle my father’s estates and debts. We used it to buy this place. Was all we could afford.”

“But here?” Haern asked, gesturing about. “On the Crimson? You deserve someplace better. Someplace safer.”

She shrugged. “My brother had a place he wanted, but the king refused to even hear his offer. It’s no matter. I spent two years in the temple unable to leave for fear of Thren’s anger. I’m used to keeping inside.”

“It’s not right,” Haern said. She smiled at him.

“You living on the street is what isn’t right. At least I have a warm bed, and a family to share my meals with. What do you have, Haern? What have you done over the years?”

He thought of his deals, his rumors, his ambushes in the night and days spent sleeping with the homeless and destitute.

“I tried to stop my father’s war. I tried to kill until there’d be no one left to fight in his name. I failed.”

She took his hand and held it.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. We all make mistakes. You once wanted something more, to understand a life beyond what your father taught you. I think you still do. But you won’t find a new life in vengeance, Haern, only sadness and loneliness.”

Silence fell over them. He let it linger, trying to find the courage to ask what he needed to know.

“Do you hate me for killing?”

“No. I am not so naïve. I would like to live in a world where no killing was needed, but I fear I may never see it. I won’t judge you for what you do, Haern. I can only try to be a light, and to shine as long as I can in a world that seems obsessed with darkness. If you need forgiveness, then know you have it from me, and from Ashhur. If you need guidance, ask, and I will do my best to answer. I’ll heal your wounds, and pray for you before I lay my head down to sleep. I won’t hate you. How could you ever think so?”

He felt like a child, and he clutched her hand tight. She shifted so she might sit next to him, and her head rested against his shoulder.

“Will you go out tonight?” he asked her.

“No. Tarlak didn’t understand the magnitude of what was going on when he first agreed. Our fault for not being part of the mercenary guild, I guess. We gave one night, and that is all Alyssa will get from us.” She paused. “Will you?”

“I think I will. I have some part to play in all of this, whether I want it or not.”

She pulled back and gently took his injured elbow into her hands. For the first time he truly looked at her, and he saw how tired she was, the whites of her eyes rimmed with angry veins. Still, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and began praying. Soft light shone from her fingers, and he felt their healing magic pour into his elbow. Several minutes later, she stopped. The pain had become a vague ache, like a sore muscle, but little else. He flexed it twice, and it felt strong enough for combat.

“I should go,” she said. “It’s not safe for me out here after dark.”

“Please,” he said, taking her hand. “Just…sit with me awhile longer. You’re safe with me.”

He saw the look on her face, and he wished he could understand what it was she thought. Her hesitation was brief, and then she sat back down. Her arms wrapped around him, and he allowed his own eyes to close. It wasn’t until he was with her that he realized he never relaxed, that he was always like a coiled spring. But there, with her, he felt able to let it go. He had nothing to hide, and no reason to. Together, they watched the sun sink further, until it was nothing but a glow peeking over the wall.

“Help me down,” she said at last. “Senke wants you to see him before you leave. He seemed certain you wouldn’t be staying tonight. I think he knows you better than I.”

“He understands the world I came from is all. Tonight will be worse, for everyone. I think he knows that.”

The rest were eating when the two came in. Brug and Tarlak seemed to act as if he weren’t there, but Senke greeted him warmly enough.

“Follow me,” he said, leading Haern to a closet built into a space underneath the stairs. He pulled out a wooden crate, wincing at the effort. Feeling guilty, Haern ordered him aside and pried open the crate himself. Inside were an assortment of weapons, from knives to two-handed swords, and various instruments in between.

“I saw your fight with that mercenary,” Senke explained. “That cloakdance you did was something special, but your swords weren’t right for it at all. Here, take these.”

He lifted a pair of weapons out and handed them over. They were long and slender, with the ends gently curved.

“These sabers are designed for slashing, and should do well with how you’re always moving. The points are sharp, but you’ll still have a hard time thrusting through heavier armor. Same with heavy chops, but I have a feeling brute force isn’t your usual method given your speed.”

Haern swung the swords about, getting a feel for their weight. They were lighter than his previous swords, with a slightly longer reach. Their grips were comfortable, feeling natural, like an extension of his body when he wielded them. He could tell they were expertly made.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Don’t thank me. Thank Brug over there. He made them.”

“Just don’t break ‘em,” Brug muttered from the table.

“Both sides will be out for blood tonight,” Senke said, leaning against a wall and holding a hand against his stomach. “You sure you have to go out? People will kill each other just fine without your help.”

He realized they were all looking at him, either blatantly or through the corners of their eyes. In his heart, he felt something harden, as if he wanted to prove them wrong, to show he didn’t care what they thought. But what did it matter? Why did he go out? What might he accomplish? He remembered Deathmask’s biting words.

As if your five years of trying to singlehandedly conquer the thief guilds has worked out so much better.

Something clicked in his head, several pieces tumbling together as the idea took form. He looked to them, then out the window. No, there was nothing out there for him, not this night. Come the day, he’d find Deathmask, assuming he still lived. Perhaps there was a chance to have a legacy opposite his father.

“You know,” he said, feeling a great weight lift off his shoulders. “I think I will stay here tonight, if you’ll have me.”

“Pull a seat up at the table,” Senke said with a smile. “You bet your ass we will.”