A Dance of Blades

10

H e had a soft bed underneath him, which confused Haern to no end. A bed? When was the last time he’d slept in a bed? Three years ago? Four? Wait, what about at that farm? No, that’d been on the floor, right? When he opened his eyes, it didn’t help much. He saw a low ceiling, poorly plastered. A glance around took in the rest of his surroundings. The room was tiny, barely any space to walk between his bed and the door. Opposite him was a single closet, stacked full of a strange assortment of clothing and weaponry. He recognized his own weapons in the pile, and he tried to go for them.

The pain in his stomach convinced him it wasn’t a good idea. He lay back down and pressed a hand against his abdomen. His fingers touched bandages, sticky with blood. Pieces of the attack at the caravan came back to him. He’d been stabbed in the stomach, that he remembered, as well as…

“What is going on?” he muttered as he inspected his arm. He remembered the cut there, and it’d been bad, if not to the bone. It was bandaged as well, but the pain was only a dull ache. He pried back some of the cloth and saw an angry scar, lacking any stitching to help it close. It didn’t seem possible. For that much healing, he’d have to have been out for weeks. The same went for the arrow wound on his shoulder. Either that, or a priest had come and healed him.

Or a priestess…

Haern remembered those last fleeting images, images no longer certain to be hallucinations. Could it be? After all these years, had Delysia exited the safety of Ashhur’s temple? A part of him felt excited to meet her, but for the most part he felt terror. His hair was still a mess, his face unevenly shaven. His clothes fit the part of the beggar. She’d been his first glimpse of light in a world of darkness, something clean and pure. He felt like living dirt, scabbed over with his blood and the blood of those he’d killed. It seemed so wrong for her to find him like this, assuming she even remembered him, or recognized him through the filth.

He tried once more to sit up, and now prepared for the pain, he managed a better job of it. Using his hand to support his weight against the wall, he leaned into the closet and grabbed his swords. He knew it made no sense for anyone to try to kill him there, not after bandaging him up and healing him, but he felt naked without their weight at his hips. Sweat dripped down his neck as he caught his breath. He offered a quick prayer to Ashhur for strength and then pulled the door open.

A very surprised Senke stood there, holding a slice of buttered bread, his free hand still reaching for the door handle that had swung away from him at the last moment.

“Going somewhere?” Senke asked.

It was too much. Haern staggered back and half sat, half fell onto his bed. He stared, his mouth hanging open.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Senke said, seeming amused by the whole scenario.

“I think I have.”

Senke laughed, and that familiar laugh helped melt his doubts. The man had shaved his head and grown out his beard, but underneath the disguise he had the same smile, same laugh, same guarded amusement in his eyes.

“Only a handful have recognized me, but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that you’re one of them. Always were the observant one, weren’t you, Aaron?”

Aaron…

A flood of memories tore through him, of days practicing with Senke, of walking at the side of his father, and of those few fleeting moments with Robert Haern before executing him at his father’s command and then cleaning up the blood. Aaron…he hadn’t gone by that name since that day. He’d adopted a new name, a new person to be.

“Haern,” he said. “Aaron died a long time ago.”

Senke handed over the bread and leaned against the door, chuckling again.

“That you did, and I was one of many who thought so, though I forgot your little oddity about the name. Everyone heard how you died in the fire. I barely got out myself, though I lost most my hair in the process. Helped disguise myself though, and I’m kind of attached to the look now.”

Haern looked at the bread as if he didn’t know what it was for. At last he dropped it, stood, and flung his arms around Senke. He didn’t say anything, didn’t know what to say. He felt thirteen again, bewildered, torn, and suddenly given a link to a past that actually had moments of good. It seemed Senke understood, for he patted Haern on the back and then gently pulled free.

“Don’t get all sentimental,” he said, winking. “Otherwise I might start thinking you aren’t really Thren’s son. Now have a seat. Del says you’ve got another day or two before you’ll be in top shape, and I don’t want you tearing those wounds open. You’ve grown up, god damn, boy. Taller than me now. How about you tell me what you’ve been doing these past five years?”

Thinking over his life, Haern felt embarrassed to say. He’d never once discussed it with anyone, only acted out his vengeance. Still, strange looking or not, there was Senke, the closest to a friend he’d ever had. The time melted away. He told it all, of his escape from the fire and living on the streets, always keeping his hair messed and unevenly cut, his skin a blanket of dirt and scabs. He stole food to live, and lived to kill those of the thief guilds. He felt keen shame admitting that, though he wasn’t sure why. In his heart he felt justified.

“How’d you end up at our caravan?” Senke asked as his story neared its end.

“Investigating the Serpent Guild and their newfound gold. Was on my way back when I stumbled upon your attack.”

“I must admit, Aaron, I thought it was actually Thren who’d come to our aid. The way you just charged in, then danced and weaved, it seemed so familiar…”

“I said it’s Haern now.”

Senke lifted his hands to show he meant no offense.

“Forgive me, just habit. Why so strict?”

Haern felt a chill coming on, and he wrapped his blankets tight about him.

“Because that’s not who I am anymore. I refuse everything of my father, including his name. I won’t be what he wants me to be.”

“Wanted,” Senke said. “He thinks you’re dead now. And instead of being your father’s pet killer, you instead spend every night killing. A neat trick, that.”

“Don’t you dare judge me!”

“No judging, just stating the obvious. Well, guess it’s my turn. Not nearly as interesting. I fled the city for the first few years. Always wanted out, think I told you that, but Thren wasn’t one to take such requests too well. That fire seemed as good an opportunity as any to make a new life. Spent some time down in Woodhaven, cutting lumber. After awhile, got bored, took some odd jobs more favorable to a dagger than an ax. All the sudden, I had a slow but steady stream of mercenary work. About a year ago I came back to Veldaren, going by the name of Stern and hoping for a bit more lucrative employment. Before you start thinking it, I wasn’t exactly falling into that same old trap. I chose my contracts carefully, and while I wasn’t always working for the nicest of people, I wasn’t killing innocents or torching the homes of the poor, either.

“Anyway, eventually met with my current employer. Even joined up with him as a permanent member of his mercenaries. Seems like he went through twenty guys, trying to find one who was…well, not scum. Lucky me, eh?”

Haern smiled but said nothing. He was still trying to wrap his head around everything. Here was someone he could talk to, could trust. After half a decade of silence and loneliness, it all came crashing to an end because of a single poorly-timed ambush. For all the many times he felt overlooked by Ashhur, he wondered just how unnoticed he really was. While he thought, he ate, figuring it a good excuse not to talk. All his confidence had flown out the window with Senke’s arrival. If anyone made him feel like the confused thirteen year old boy he’d once been, it was him.

“I see your eyes drooping,” Senke said when Haern finished his meal. “Let me send in Delysia to swap out some clean bandages and then you can rest, ponder over this craziness.”

“Delysia?” he asked. “Is she…is her last name Eschaton?”

Senke raised an eyebrow. “Well, yeah, but how would you…wait a minute. You did know a Delysia. Is she her, the one you killed Dustin to protect and…shit, that is her, isn’t it?”

Haern nodded, and was totally unprepared for Senke’s eruption of laughter.

“Looks like she returned the favor. She’s the one that kept you from bleeding out like a stuck boar. Damn, this is too funny. You never told me she became a priestess. Always wondered how she hid from Thren so well.”

“I never told anyone,” Haern mumbled. “Kayla told me the night of the Kensgold.”

Senke’s face saddened at the mention of her name. “She was a pretty lass. What I heard, Thren killed her for aiding you. Such a shame. Didn’t pay much to help you out, did it?”

The comment stung deeper than Senke intended, and at the pained look crossing Haern’s face, he immediately started trying to take it back.

“I’m sorry, Haern, you know I don’t mean that. It wasn’t your fault, any of it. Your father’s just a bastard, still is, though his influence is slowly dwindling, thank Ashhur.”

“Senke, I…I’m not ready to see her yet.”

“She’s seen plenty of you.”

He blushed a fierce red but remained adamant. “Please, just let me rest. Meeting you again is too much as is. Let me think, all right?”

Senke shrugged. “I guess you’ll survive, though if those cuts get infected, it’s your own damn fault. Sleep tight, Haern.”

“Thanks.”

Even after Senke left, his words echoed in Haern’s head.

Didn’t pay much to help you out, did it?

How many had died because of him? Robert died by his hand. His father killed Kayla, again for helping him. Senke had nearly died in the fire. Delysia had been forced into hiding. And now, when every thief guild in the city would gladly string him up by his thumbs and let the entire underworld have a go at him, the two had brought him into their home and given him succor. Were they mad? He was a monster, a beacon of chaos and murder. The streets were where he belonged. Their gutters had room for the blood.

Besides, he couldn’t face her. He just couldn’t. The last image he had of Delysia was her gasping in his arms as the bolt pierced her back. She’d looked so shocked, so betrayed, and then to see his own father approaching, crossbow in hand, he’d felt such guilt…

He tightened his belt and held back a grimace at the pain in his stomach. His cloaks were folded up beside his bed, as were his tattered clothes. Again he blushed a bright red as he remembered Senke’s comment, and he prayed that it had been anyone but Delysia who had changed him into what he wore now, a plain white shirt and brown pants. Quietly he changed into his old clothes. In their dirt and dried blood he felt all the more wretched and eager to be gone. Everything about him was filthy, even the task he’d devoted his life to. Was he really any better than his father? At least Thren had developed an empire, however fleeting. All Haern was doing was destroying it all.

He shook his head, trying to banish such thoughts. He needed to concentrate. Drowsiness still tugged at his eyes, and that soft warm bed tempted him more than any woman had. Deciding it was now or never, he crept open the door and looked about.

Whatever building he was in was small in space but attempting to make up for it by being two stories tall. He saw a second door across from him, and a few feet away, stairs curling downward at sharp angles to the bottom floor. He heard muffled talking from the other door. Feeling like a trespasser, he hurried along as fast as his wounds allowed him to go. The bottom floor was blessedly empty. Sparsely furnished, he saw a table, an oak desk in the corner, and a modest pile of books atop it. At the door, he removed the bolt and stepped out into the street.

He looked around a moment, taking in his surroundings. The sun was rising, still low enough to hide behind the city’s walls. There was an inn not far away, Prather’s if he read the sign right, and that meant he was on…Crimson Alley, deep in southern Veldaren. He felt muted horror at the realization. Senke and Delysia lived on the Crimson, one of the most dangerous places in the city? No wonder he never saw either of them when he patrolled the night. They’d certainly keep their doors locked and windows bolted. How often had he passed right on by when scouring for isolated members of the guilds?

He worried about his injuries, but those desperate enough to rob in daylight he could certainly handle. Giving one last glance at the dilapidated building to memorize its location, Haern rushed north, eager to put some distance between him and his sudden assault from the past.

*

V eliana floated in silence, and that alone convinced her she was dead. She didn’t know if her eyes were open or closed. All she saw was darkness, though she didn’t really see it as much as be swallowed by it. The numbness she felt she likened to cold, so at least she felt something, however faint. Time drifted by as if it were bored of her. Then came a sudden, shocking pain to her chest. It lit up her darkness with streaks of red. Again she felt the pain, but this time there was a comfort to it, a strange familiarity. The third time it hit, she realized it was her heartbeat restarting.

Pins and needles came in waves, first to her chest, then her face, and last her extremities. The darkness gradually faded from black, to yellow, to red, and at last to an assortment of colors that congealed together to create the unmasked face of Deathmask.

“Welcome back,” he said with a smile.

She would have hit him if her limbs bothered to listen to her commands.

He vanished. She lay on her back, and now she stared at a cobwebbed ceiling. Based on the cold she felt, she decided she was on a dirt floor. Her ears, about the only thing working properly, heard shuffling, followed by a laugh.

“I’m sure you’re angry with me, but let me assure you, I hope I never have to do that again.” Deathmask leaned over, and she felt him press his hands against her neck. “Pulse is getting stronger. Good. Never actually tried that spell before, so consider yourself a lucky first try. Stopping someone’s heart is never easy. Well, not if you want to start it again.”

“What…happened?” she forced her dry throat and swollen tongue to ask.

“I faked killing you. The thrust to your chest wasn’t deep enough, but I made sure no one bothered to investigate the matter. With your heart stopped, and your body in stasis, there wasn’t much reason to think otherwise. I took over the burial, and here we are. Simple enough explanation, and once you get your bearings, I think you’ll be pleased with its elegance.”

The pins and needles returned throughout her body, and this time she felt herself regaining control. Her head pounded with the unholiest of headaches, but she forced herself to sit up, forced the memories to come back. She’d been in their headquarters, Garrick was there, accusing her of…

She reached for a dagger at her side but all she did was topple herself back to the dirt.

“Don’t rush things,” she heard Deathmask say. “You’ll be fine in a few more minutes. We have much to discuss, so try not to do anything stupid like killing me, all right?”

No promises, she thought amid her delirium.

As her body reawakened, so did her mind. She glanced about, taking in her surroundings. They appeared to be in a cellar of some sort, the only light coming from a single torch lit behind her head. She saw no door but assumed it was also behind her. Deathmask leaned against a stone wall to her right, his arms crossed, his face blanketed with a smug grin she’d give everything to cut off. Feeling far better, she sat up, braced herself for the ensuing dizziness, and then sat on her knees.

“I’m fine now,” she told him. “You say we have lots to talk about, so let’s talk.”

He nodded, as if perfectly fine to hurry through the bullshit.

“Garrick surprised me with his boldness. I’d feel more upset if he didn’t surprise you as well, and you’ve known him far longer than I. Even a rigged die will roll something new with enough throws, if you know what I mean. I tried to save us both, but clearly Garrick wasn’t one to be persuaded. He wanted you dead, and I did my best to fool him regarding that. I succeeded, of that I’m sure. My position in the guild is tenuous right now, esteemed in most of the lower members that despised you, but Garrick wants me killed, that much is obvious. And now here we are. It’s only been a day, and I managed to keep you wrapped and safe so no bugs or worms could get at you.”

Veliana shuddered at the prospect.

“So here we are,” she said. “What is it you want? Why keep me alive?”

“Because I made you an offer, and I won’t let some idiot guildmaster interfere with my plans. That offer still stands, though I need your answer now. Will you aid me, or must I find another?”

“And if I say no?”

His eyes held no joy, no amusement, only grim truth.

“I’ll put you as you were, though this time no spell will bring you back.”

She thought of the cold, the darkness. An involuntary shudder coursed through her, too strong to hide. She couldn’t go back to that, even if it wasn’t a true death. Garrick had turned against her, and even now she would be a outsider, a banished ghost from her own guild.

“I’ll help you,” she said. “Even if I did have a choice, I’d still help you. I want that son of a bitch to die, slowly, painfully, and at my hand. That is all I ask. Can you promise me that?”

Deathmask handed her a small bottle of some red vintage. She tore out the cork and drank.

“That, my dear,” he said, “is something I can assure you of. He’ll be your kill, all yours.”

The alcohol burned going down, but damn did it feel good.

“Then enough lies and games. I can hardly turn against you, now that I’ve been ‘executed’ by the Ash Guild. What is your plan? Why have you come to Veldaren?”

Deathmask smoothed his robe and then sat opposite her on the floor. He scratched at his chin, as if thinking where to start.

“I was once a member of the Council of Mages,” he said. “Less than six months ago, in fact. They preach non-involvement in political matters, but it’s nonsense. We had our eyes everywhere, especially on the kings and their capitals. When this war erupted between the guilds and the Trifect, I was assigned to watch. Through coin and magic, I learned of every guildleader, their goals, and the reaches of their power. As the years dragged on, and my boredom grew, I formulated various plans and contingencies. I was not a high ranking member, Veliana; far from it. My strength was equal to many, but my years were few. Not enough gray hairs, if you will. I also had a reputation as a…troublemaker.”

“Shocking,” Veliana muttered. He chuckled and continued.

“They told me nothing of why I was tracking Veldaren’s underworld, so left to my imagination, I thought of every possible reason. Recently I came up with a plan I was sure could work. It wasn’t foolproof, and would involve risk to whoever tried carrying it out, but I was certain of its worth. This stupid grudge war wasn’t going to end, not without killing off Thren Felhorn, and I knew a way. When I tried to convince the Council of this, they gave me strict orders not to interfere. I saw a wealth of gold, but gold means nothing to those aging bastards. They want influence, power, and information. Gold helped with that, but was hardly their true ambition.

“I went on with my plan without their approval, and that is when I realized how dangerous they thought me. Several of my contacts were actually in the pockets of other higher ranking members. My assassination attempt accomplished nothing but my banishment. They took my name from me, Veliana. They stole it with a spell, called my ambitions foolish, my desire for gold a young man’s folly. We call you nameless, they said, for you are death. They refused to see the power I might gain, the wealth the underworld of Veldaren smuggled every single night.

“I came here to prove them wrong. I lurked until the right moment to introduce myself. I have a plan, many in fact, and this is just one of them. We will take over the Ash Guild and turn it into a powerful force no one will dare act against. We’ll kill many accomplishing this, possibly hundreds. Does this bother you?”

She thought over everything he’d said. It made sense, and it explained many of his strange powers. Of course he could be lying, but even if he was, it didn’t change what Garrick had done to her. As for his question…

“No,” she said. “Not if it lets me kill Garrick. The innocent aren’t long for this world anyway.”

Deathmask smiled.

“Good girl,” he said. “Then you shouldn’t mind what you must do next.”