A Dance of Blades

26

Alyssa had been hiding in her room from her relatives when Zusa arrived, a letter in hand.

“He’s coming,” she told her as she handed over the parchment. “The man who killed your son. He wants you to agree to his terms, or he’ll kill you.”

“This man, the Watcher…” She crumpled the letter without reading it, needing only the signature at the bottom to know her answer. “He kills Nathaniel, then dares make demands?”

“He’ll come tonight,” Zusa said. “And he’s skilled, milady. He might carry through his promise.”

“Let him come,” Alyssa said. “You will protect me. He cannot hide from you, not here in my mansion. This is our home, and he the stranger. I trust you with my life, Zusa. Don’t let me down.”

“The terms aren’t so unfair,” Zusa insisted. “Bertram would have you agree.”

“I don’t care. Let the Watcher try. He dies tonight.”

And so the day had droned on, Alyssa with less and less patience with the relatives that had remained after the funeral, preferring the safety of her mansion to their own homes. Bertram came to discuss the wedding, but she ordered him away. She’d even been curt with Arthur, who had brought her a plate of food and a glass of wine.

“You have eaten nothing all day,” he’d said. “Please, take something. You will feel better. We have things we must discuss.”

Fearing he might bring up the subject of marriage, or gods forbid, propose right there holding a plate of bread, boiled potatoes, and cabbage, she told him to get out. A bit of his caring demeanor had faltered there, and he stormed away.

“You have no time left to be a little child,” he’d told her before slamming the door shut. “Already your immaturity overstays its welcome.”

“And you yours!” she screamed, hurling the glass of wine he’d left behind.

She wished Zusa was there, but she’d vanished, although promising to never be far.

“If you know, then you might reveal my presence,” the faceless woman had argued. “If you trust me, then trust me. Trust the shadows to hold only me.”

The night dragged on. This time there were no fires to watch, no men rushing up and down the streets. Just quiet. It seemed eerie, as if the city were suddenly waiting for something. Bertram had told her he feared terrible retribution from the guilds for her actions, but so far it seemed none were coming. Or maybe one was, coming in the name of the Watcher.

Alyssa double-checked the lock to her room for the fourth time.

With nothing to read, and nothing to do, she sat down on her bed, closed her eyes, and wished she could sleep. It’d be so much better for her to die that way, unable to feel the pain. Part of her expected just that to happen, though another part was revolted by the sheer weakness involved in considering it. She should be stronger, better, but she was so tired. The Gemcroft estate felt like chains attached to every inch of her body, dragging her down, pulling her into an exhausted pit where she could feel no emotion, cry no tears, and express no love. It was in that pit Arthur waited.

The sound of cracking glass startled her to a sitting position, her heart leaping all the way up to her throat. Any calm she might have felt in accepting this fate vanished with the threat finally there. A man was outside her window, hanging from a rope. The glass had cracked in a circle of veins from where his heel rammed into it. She saw him kick off, his momentum bringing him back into the glass. This time it shattered, and in rolled the Watcher, all cloaks and blades and shadows.

Alyssa rolled off the bed in the direction opposite him. Hitting the ground with a thud, she scampered toward the door. A dagger flew, and she felt a tug as it passed through strands of her hair before thudding into her locked door. Panic struck her, and she spun to face her attacker.

“Lady Gemcroft,” said the man, and he bowed low as if in respect. It seemed so comical coming from him, her mouth dropped open. “I’ve come for an answer to my offer, and for your sake I hope it different than what I last received.”

She thought to lie, or bargain, or maybe just turn, fling open the lock, and hope she was faster than him even though she knew she wasn’t. She’d die with a dagger in her back, or maybe a saber in her neck. With each step he took, she took one back, until she realized he was carefully guiding her away from the door. If she were to flee, she had to do it now, either that or give in. Before she could choose either option, the shadows above her shifted, and out from the corner Zusa leapt, her cloak uncurling from about her body as if she were an insect emerging from a cocoon.

The Watcher, instead of retreating at the ambush, rushed toward her. Alyssa dove out of the way, and only when she landed did she realize she’d done as the man hoped. He’d cut her off from the door. From her knees she watched Zusa and the Watcher clash. His sabers were longer than Zusa’s daggers, and he had the greater reach, but it seemed to not matter. Alyssa had seen Zusa leap naked into a river to fight a dark paladin of Karak. She’d seen her fight through a crowd of mercenaries to bring her the head of her rapist.

She’d never seen her fight like this.

Sword and dagger clashed in a constant echo of noise, sharp and painful in the closed room. The Watcher whirled, his weapons a blur, yet Zusa met every move. Her body arched and weaved as if her bones were liquid and her balance relied on mental will alone. Alyssa tried to follow it with her eyes, but could not. Over and over a saber would pass so close to her flesh she’d wince, expecting a shower of blood, but it never happened.

“Alyssa!” someone shouted from the other side of the door. Something heavy thudded against it, most likely a fist striking in a panic.

“Send my guards!” she screamed back, returning to her wits. Another thud, this heavier, but the lock on her door was sturdy, designed to hold out far more than a single man. She desperately wished she’d left it unlocked.

The Watcher leapt side to side, avoiding Zusa’s thrusts, and then spun about, hiding his body with a sudden flourish of his cloak. From within its folds she saw the glint of his sabers, darting out with a quick slash from the chaos. Zusa retreated from it, careful to keep herself between him and Alyssa. For a moment, Alyssa thought it might work. If Zusa could hold on until help arrived, the man would have to retreat.

But then Zusa cried out, and blood splashed across the carpet. Alyssa felt her heart stop. Zusa continued fighting, even as the wraps on her left arm soaked with blood. Could she fight through it? For a few long moments, she did. Zusa went on the offensive, her whole body twisting into her thrusts, giving her a reach beyond even the sabers. This time the Watcher fell back, batting each thrust aside, the contact ringing in Alyssa’s ears. Their speed…it was unreal. At one point their weapons entangled, looping and parrying in what could only be described as a lethal dance. Faster and faster they moved, each refusing to give the other an inch of room. The sound of their battle escalated, and Alyssa found herself clutching the carpet, her whole body tense. The second she saw another splatter of blood, she would run for the door, risks be damned.

But it was all bluster. She saw the pain on Zusa’s face, and her heart broke. The Watcher’s foot struck her protector’s chin, and as she staggered back, in sliced a saber, cutting into her arm. Zusa dropped one of her daggers, and suddenly at a disadvantage, she could not hold him back. His assault came, vicious and quick. Another thin cut opened on her leg, the slash so quick Alyssa never even saw it. Fists and knees slammed into Zusa, and she rolled with them, rolling…away from the door.

She was granting her a way out, sacrificing her body, her life, to do it.

The Watcher kicked her again, hard in the throat. As she fell back, he descended upon her, a saber tip pressing against her chest, just above her heart. His elbow trapped the arm still wielding a dagger, the rest of his weight pressing against her waist to keep her from moving.

“Why do you hunt me?” she heard him ask Zusa. It seemed so strange to her, to hear him wonder, but she dared not think of it. She wouldn’t allow Zusa to die for nothing. With her fall, Alyssa knew there was no way for her to escape. Men shouted from the other side of the door, but they were yet to begin breaking it in. At least she could accomplish something with her death. At least she could reward such a loyal servant for all she had done.

“Wait!” Alyssa screamed before she might lose her courage. “Take me, but let her live!”

The Watcher looked over to her, a quick glance before returning his gaze back to Zusa, who even in such a state remained dangerous.

“Why?” he asked. “Why would you kill yourself? I offered you a chance to end all this! Are you so vain that you would rather die than work with men such as me? All of Veldaren suffers, and I offer a chance to save it!”

“I never read your offer. I could never agree, not after what you’ve done. Now take my life, and spare hers.”

“What I’ve done?” he asked, and he sounded genuinely perplexed.

“Her son,” Zusa said, her voice hoarse from the kick. “You killed her son, then scrawled your name in the dirt with his blood.”

The Watcher looked taken aback. His eyes glanced between them. When something heavy thudded against the door, his body tensed.

“When?” he asked, his voice soft.

“Weeks ago, on the road north to Tyneham.”

Using one of his sabers, he pushed the final dagger free from Zusa’s hand, then stood.

“Murderer of children,” he whispered, as if finally understanding something. “I know what child you speak of. Five years old, perhaps six, red hair? He lives, lady Gemcroft. I saved him, though he was wounded and with fever. I left him in the care of a family, and paid them well to protect him.”

Alyssa shook her head. He had to be lying. It didn’t make any sense.

“Why?” she asked. “How? The caravan was attacked…”

“I came upon an ambush of a caravan, but not by thieves. They were men wearing the same insignia, a sickle held before a mountain. Your boy was the target. I never learned his name, but the caravan contained crates of gold bearing your family’s crest. They were smuggling it in to the Serpent Guild, though why, I do not know.”

It was too much. That crest, that was Hadfield’s family crest. Could he have attacked Mark, attacked Nathaniel? But why would the Watcher lie? He could easily kill her and Zusa. And besides, she’d seen her son’s body…his burned…

“Arthur claimed to have found the body,” Zusa said, as if she too were following her thinking. “His men brought it back. His men found the caravan. Mark, your lover. Nathaniel, your heir.”

As the door to her room cracked, the hinges wincing in protest, she saw the Watcher tighten the muscles in his body. He was preparing an action. Time was nearing its end. She couldn’t stall. She had to make a decision, the one that felt right.

“If you did save my son, you have my most sincere gratitude,” she said. “I’ll agree to your terms. Zusa told me they were fair, and I trust her. But if find this to be a lie, I will bring the wrath of the entire Trifect down upon you.”

The Watcher grinned at the threat.

“I have a date with the Serpents, so I must be going. I’ll keep your threat in mind.”

He turned to the window and ran, leaping out as if a madman. Then she saw him catch the rope still hanging, and like a spider he zipped back up toward the roof and beyond her line of sight. Zusa gingerly rose to her feet, holding her bleeding arm with her hand.

“You know what you must do,” she said, and Alyssa nodded.

“Enough!” she shouted to the men trying to break down her door. “Stand back; he’s gone.”

Zusa went over and unlocked the door. Guards spilled in, their weapons drawn as if they refused to believe her. One checked underneath her bed, while several others looked out from the window and swore.

“Are you all right?” asked Bertram, pushing through them and hugging her.

“I’m fine,” she said. “It’s Zusa who was hurt, that’s all.”

Bertram didn’t even glance the faceless woman’s way.

“Thank the gods. I wish you would spend the night with the rest of the guards. It was folly to remain in here alone in the first place.”

“I said I’ll be fine. I’m safe here, if not for a bit of a draft.” She tried to smile, but her hands were shaking, and her smile trembled on her lips. And the night wasn’t done just yet.

“Leave me,” she told her guards. “Trust me, I will be safe.”

The men grumbled, and they looked none-too-happy, but she was their employer, and grumble was all they could do. Bertram waited until the rest were gone before bowing.

“Is there anything else you need from me?” he asked.

“Send for Arthur. I need his comfort.”

“Of course, most understandable.”

When he was gone, she looked to Zusa.

“How bad are your wounds?”

“I have suffered worse.”

“You’re bleeding all over my expensive carpet.”

Zusa smiled, then suddenly let out a rare laugh.

“I guess I am.”

Alyssa walked to the door, stopped, and outstretched her hand. Zusa put her dagger into it and folded her fingers closed.

“Tell Arthur to meet me in the gardens,” she said. “I’ll be waiting at Nathaniel’s grave.”

She hurried out her room and down the hallways. Every twist and turn was second nature to her, and she managed her way out to the darkness without alerting any of her guards, or more importantly, Arthur’s mercenaries. In her garden behind the mansion, she felt the cold air bite into her skin, felt the moonlight shine down upon her. A few minutes later Arthur arrived, his arms crossed over his chest to keep in his warmth. She turned and kept her hands folded behind her back, the hilt like ice in her fingers.

“Are you safe, my dear?” Arthur asked, immediately wrapping her in his arms. “I only heard the commotion at its end, and Bertram found me before I could dress.”

Alyssa smiled at him, but when he went to kiss her, she tilted her head away, her eyes falling upon the grave marked by a stone angel, the lettering at its feet reading ‘Nathaniel Gemcroft’.

“I just want to ask you something first,” she said, her hands still behind her as if she were shy.

“Anything.”

She looked into his eyes, watching his every reaction.

“Whose body is truly in this grave?”

The hour was late, and Arthur had not the slightest reason to expect the question. He paused, and for one second, she saw the guilt in his eyes, and the fear. What replaced them was cold cruelty. Without a word, he lunged for her throat with his hands. Before they could close around her, she stabbed him with Zusa’s dagger. As his blood spilled across her hands, he looked at her with wide-eyed shock. She could almost read his thoughts as they flashed over him. This can’t be happening, not to me, not when I played this so perfectly.

She twisted the dagger, taking pleasure in the pain that crossed his face.

“I wish I could make it hurt worse,” she whispered into his ear, as if they were still lovers. And then his body collapsed, and she stepped out of the way, letting go of the dagger. She stood there, breathing heavily, and watched the blood mix with the soil. When Zusa arrived moments later, Alyssa did her best to smile.

“At least I didn’t stain the carpet,” she said, but her smile was forced, and tears ran down her face. Zusa put her arms on her shoulders and kissed her forehead.

“Thank you,” she said.

“For what?”

“For willing to sacrifice yourself for me.” She gestured to the body. “What do you want me to do with him?”

“Hide him for now, until we know how Arthur’s mercenaries will react. But first…the Watcher’s plan…will it work?”

Zusa shrugged. “It’s possible. He’ll have difficulty doing it alone.”

“I can’t do this anymore, Zusa. If Nathaniel’s still alive, I want him here with me. I want him safe. Go with the Watcher. Help him against the Serpents, but the Serpents only. I won’t help him harm a member of the Trifect, but for at least one more night, perhaps I can bring revenge on the guilds that have harmed us so. They stole from me, them and Arthur. Bring ruin upon them as they deserve.”

“As you wish, milady,” Zusa said. Despite the wounds on her body, she offered no protest. Dragging Arthur’s body by the arm, she hid him behind a row of rosebushes, currently nothing but thorns and brown stems.

“I’ll inform Bertram,” the faceless woman said, cleaning her dagger. “He’ll need to replace Arthur, and perhaps much of the Hadfield family, in their rule over our mines. If he acts quickly, we might find that which was stolen.”

“Thank you. I could use a moment’s peace until then.”

Zusa returned to the house, and Alyssa followed. Their paths branched, she to her room, Zusa to Bertram’s. Once back, she collapsed on her bed, eager for the night to be over. Doubt gnawed at her, and she hoped she’d done the right thing. At least in time she’d know for sure. If Nathaniel lived, then everything would be justified. Everything would be made better. She thought of the carnage and chaos she’d unleashed upon the city, all in a desire for vengeance, only for it to be Arthur’s doing, not the thieves. Not directly, anyway, though it seemed the Serpent Guild had a hand in it. Hopefully the gods might forgive her.

The door opened, and in stepped Bertram. Not surprisingly, he looked rather upset.

“I can scarcely believe what Zusa told me,” he said. “Is it true? Did you kill Arthur?”

“I did, and I was right in doing so.”

The old man locked the door, then placed his head against the wood as if he needed its support to remain standing.

“He was our last hope,” he said. “We’ve squandered our wealth on mercenaries, destroyed the Gemcroft’s reputation, and now you ruin the only chance of bringing back any respectability to our name? Why?”

He turned to her, and the look in his eyes sent a chill running through her spine.

“Bertram?” she asked, sliding her legs underneath her. “Why did you lock the door?”

The old advisor pulled out a dagger from his bed robes. For a moment his cold rage turned to pity, and she wasn’t sure which infuriated her more.

“You had such potential,” he said, stepping toward her. “Instead you’ve denied your duties. You’ve led us to ruin, destroying everything I’ve worked my entire life for. If there’s any hope for us now, it is someone, anyone, taking over.”

“Including you?”

He looked insulted by the notion.

“I do this for the legacy of your entire family, generations before and generations yet to come. Not myself. Never for myself. I hope you understand.”

He lunged for her, and she rolled to the side. Compared to Zusa or the Watcher, he was slow, but she had no weapon, no dagger or club. She grabbed the sheets as she hit the ground beside her bed and flung them at Bertram.

“ Help! ” she screamed as she circled around, putting the broken window to her back. Bertram shoved the blankets aside, his dagger catching momentarily on them. He was between her and the door, and she thought to run past while he was entangled, but it wasn’t a long enough distraction. He stepped over the sheets, his eyes locked onto her, watching, waiting for the slightest twitch so he might react. For an old man, he seemed reenergized, his movements carrying purpose.

“It won’t matter,” he said. “You will be gone by the time they arrive, and even if they execute me, I’ll have removed the sickness within our house.”

She thought of Nathaniel, of Arthur, and of Bertram’s insistence on marriage. Deep inside, she wondered just how involved he’d been with those events, and the anger that burned within gave her the courage to do what she might never have done otherwise. When he stabbed for her chest, she didn’t dodge. Instead she flung herself at him, twisting to one side in hopes of avoiding the blow. The edge slashed her flesh, the pain almost unbearable, but her mind was full of fury and adrenaline. Her left hand grabbed his arm so he couldn’t stab again, the other clutching the front of his robes. She might have lacked the strength of a man, but Bertram was old and thin.

With a mindless cry she flung him behind her, toward the shattered window where many shards still remained. He cried out once, a surprised yelp that ended in a painful shriek. Still trembling with rage, she watched as blood poured across the glass. He’d been impaled by one of the thick shards, the pointed edge digging deep into the flesh below his throat. Bertram tried to suck in another breath, but it came in gargled and wet. His arms flailed uselessly at his side, slicing his hands as he grabbed more shards trying to push himself off the window.

Behind her, the door broke as her guards smashed it open. They poured in once more, and this time they did not allow her to resist as they took her by the hand and led her out. She looked back only once, to make sure Bertram was still there, still bleeding.

The sickness within her house, she thought. Bertram was right. At last, it had been removed. And then she broke down and cried.