A Dance of Blades

8

I n searching for the Watcher, there was one person Zusa knew would be best to meet with first. Behind the fenced estate was a small empty building, Zusa’s home. She intended to gather a few things for her task, but when she stepped into her combination bedroom and training room, she was instead surprised to find Veliana already waiting for her.

“You?” she said.

“I know I’m a day early,” Veliana said. She’d taken off her cloak, and wore only skin-tight clothing of blacks and grays. “I’ve come not just for training, but for advice.”

Zusa removed her own cloak and set it atop her bed. Other than the bed, the room was completely empty. The floor was padded, but still firm, a gift from Alyssa celebrating her first year of living with and protecting her. Veliana’s boots lay beside the door, and she padded barefoot to the center of the room.

“Tell me while we spar,” Zusa said. “I still feel sleep’s allure, so I need the awakening.”

They both drew a pair of daggers. No training weaponry for them; Zusa had insisted on real blades. She trusted her skill to make sure she caused no serious injury, as well as to prevent Veliana from doing the same. Over the past five years, Veliana had closed much of the gap, so now if either scored a hit, they counted it a well-earned rarity.

“Have you heard of a sorcerer named Deathmask, or perhaps Death’s Mask?” she asked as she stretched. Zusa shook her head. Veliana didn’t seem surprised. “Thought I’d ask anyway. He appeared about a week ago, a dangerous man. He has plans to kill Garrick, though how I don’t know. I think he has a chance.”

“Will you kill him?”

Veliana feinted, then slashed low, fully expecting Zusa to block. Their daggers connected, and as the steel rang out, they thrust and parried, resuming a skilled dance they had perfected over the years, a perfect give and take of cuts and dodges, parries and thrusts. They talked as they fought, albeit a little out of breath.

“I’m not sure if I still can, nor if I want to. Garrick has turned against me, thinks he can survive without me. He may be right, though he was a lying coward when I first thrust him into his role.”

Zusa upped the pace, forcing Veliana on the defensive as she spun and slashed.

“Men change over time, as do women.”

“But not like this. It’s too sudden. I feel like I’m missing something obvious.”

“Perhaps you are, and that is why you miss it. What is it you wish from me?”

Veliana leapt away, but instead of gaining a moment’s breather, Zusa rushed in, her daggers leading. After she parried both, Veliana struck Zusa in the chest with an elbow and then pushed her back.

“I must make a choice, but I don’t know which is the right one. You know me best, Zusa. What should I do?”

Zusa pulled back from her attack and rubbed her chest. Veliana was terribly distracted to have thrown so much strength into the elbow.

“I see many choices,” she said. “Find what suddenly gave Garrick testicles and then cut them off. Join this Deathmask and solidify your position as second in command. Weave your own plans to remove Garrick. Accept your diminished role, and wait for the inevitable dagger to remove you completely.”

“I’m tired of the games,” Veliana said. “I have no time to investigate Garrick. He’ll move against me soon, I know it. I promised Deathmask an answer by tomorrow night.”

“Will he kill you if you say no?”

Veliana laughed. “He might. I know nothing of him.”

“Then how can you trust him?”

“Because I’ve fought him. He didn’t kill me when he had the chance. He never showed fear, even when I had the chance to end his life. He’s brutal, terrible, and driven. Whatever his goal is, he’ll succeed…I guess I’m scared I’ll be in his way.”

Zusa twirled her daggers and motioned for another spar. “Then join him, and do so without pause or regret. Garrick has turned against you, inviting this betrayal. Hear Deathmask’s plan, but always watch and listen. Every plan can be turned to your favor.”

It was Veliana’s turn to be on the offensive, and she took to it with a wild fury that worried Zusa. Normally the woman was more controlled. This Deathmask must have upset her greatly. Did she feel guilt for betraying Garrick? Or was she too proud to agree to anything that left her second in the Ash Guild? Whatever the reason, her daggers lacked their normal grace, and she had to leap away several times to prevent blood from staining the floor.

“Restrain yourself, girl,” Zusa said at last, after a desperate thrust nearly opened her throat. “If this choice disturbs you so much, I will choose for you, so you can concentrate and not kill me through your carelessness.”

“I’m sorry,” Veliana said, sheathing her daggers and leaning against the wall. She sounded terribly out of breath. “I should go.”

“No,” Zusa said. “I have a question for you as well. Someone murdered Alyssa’s child. I must discover who.”

“Someone killed Nathaniel?” she asked. “I thought you’d persuaded her to move him up north and out of the city.”

“I had. She called him back. He died on the northern road.”

“It wasn’t the Ash Guild, I promise. I’d never let Garrick do something that low, and he’s not yet reached a point where he can plan something so large behind my back.”

“Are you sure?”

She paused a moment, thinking, and then sighed.

“No, I’m not. His control might be greater than I’ve realized. My opinion of him was far too low, and it has blinded me to his ambitions. He’s not content to be a puppet. Still, I can’t think of a reason why he’d have killed Nathaniel, nor how he’d even know the boy was on his way. Is there anything else?”

Zusa took her dagger and scrawled the symbol found at the caravan exactly as the soldiers had shown her.

“That,” Zusa said. “Tell me all you know of him, this…Watcher.”

“We first heard of him about three years ago, but honestly, he might have been killing us for longer. Given the amount of infighting, and the Trifect’s war against us, we probably blamed others for his early murders. But then we started finding these runes, an eye here, or the letter ‘W’. Perhaps he thought us dense, or his confidence hadn’t grown yet. Either way, he started killing more, and leaving his marker larger, clearer, and often in blood. He kills thieves of all guilds, with seemingly no preference. Every guild has accused the others of secretly harboring him, but we’ve never had an ounce of proof. Whoever he is, he has a profound hatred of all thief guilds, and he’s also incredibly good. Far too many have died by his hand, and those who survive can only speak of a face shrouded in shadow and hidden by a hood and many cloaks.”

“Has he ever attacked the Trifect?” Zusa asked.

Veliana shrugged. “If he has, we don’t know about it. Not that any would tell us. But if this is the first you’re hearing of him, then I doubt he’s struck at the Gemcrofts before.”

Zusa frowned, for this didn’t match up with the surrounding events. Why would this Watcher turn on them if his enemy was the thieves?

“I must find him,” Zusa said. “Is there anything you know that can help me?”

“Find him? What for?”

“He killed Alyssa’s son. I must give my lady her vengeance.”

“If the Watcher killed him, something else is going on. Perhaps he thinks you’ve secretly colluded with one of the thief guilds. Maybe he was confused. Or maybe he’s just insane and out for blood. We know nothing of him.”

“Regardless the difficulty, he is my prey, and must be found. My honor is sworn upon it.”

“Then I wish you luck,” Veliana said as she sheathed her daggers and swung her cloak over her shoulders. “Many have tried, and no lead we’ve ever found has panned out. He might as well be a ghost. If you wish to find him, your best bet is to scour the streets at night and listen for the sound of combat. If you don’t catch him in the act, I doubt you ever will.”

“Will you not stay, practice your spells?”

“I should be going. Deathmask seeks his answer, and I must prepare until then.”

“Good luck,” Zusa said, bowing. “May you make the right decision, and in time, find peace with my lady and her family.”

Veliana pushed open the door, and as the chill wind blew in, she sadly shook her head.

“Long as Thren Felhorn lives, this war will continue. Too many fear him, and many more live in the palm of his hand without ever knowing. He’s a bitter, angry man. Sometimes I think all of Veldaren will burn before the end.”

“Perhaps it is not Garrick you should plot against, but Thren,” Zusa said.

Veliana’s smile turned bitter.

“We did, once,” she said. “I’ll see you next week. Safe travels.”

“To you as well.”

Zusa had hoped discussing with Veliana would illuminate matters, but instead it made things worse. An assassin killing thieves for several years, and not once had any of the guilds discovered his real identity. Who could be that skilled? And what had drawn that skill against her lady? What would happen if she did find him? Did she have the ability to take him down?

Only one way to find out, of course. Dawn was fast approaching, less than an hour away. Still, in that last twilight moment, perhaps she might find word of the Watcher.

She scoured the rooftops, an eye always kept on the streets. She saw several deals, a whore earning her pay, and two men dying so their killers might make off with their gold. No Watcher. Up on the rooftops, she was alone.

“You must have left people alive,” Zusa whispered to herself as she watched the sun rise. “You’ve hurt many opponents, though none will work together. But I am not one of them. I will piece it together. I will discover who you are. Perhaps, in time, I will be the one leaving my mark for you.”

She returned to the Gemcroft mansion, and in her room she slept through the day. Come nightfall, she had an underworld to interrogate.

*

H aern woke to the sounds of the door banging open against the snow. A sliver of light lanced across his eyes. Dawn was fast approaching, but the snow magnified what little light crept over the horizon. He rubbed his eyes, then looked again. Matthew was dressed in many layers of coats and furs, and his two older sons were dressed similarly. A glance around showed the daughters still slept.

“Need to break the ice so our cattle can drink,” Matthew explained, keeping his voice low so not to wake the others. “Forgive me, but it’s an early morning here on the farm.”

“Forgiven,” Haern said, rising. He pulled his cloak tight about himself. He needed to piss, and he wasn’t looking forward to the excursion in what little clothing he had.

“Here,” said Matthew, tossing him a coat. “It’s an extra, and with what you paid me, you certainly deserve it. I have a feeling you won’t be staying ‘round much longer.”

“Your feeling is right,” Haern said, inspecting the coat. It was old, the fur too faded for him to accurately guess what animal it had been made from. Still, the lining remained intact and well-cared for. He slipped it on and nodded his thanks.

“Come on,” Matthew said to his boys. “Let’s go. My wife’s in the kitchen cooking if you’d like a bite to eat, Haern.”

“I would, but let me take care of other things first.”

When he came back inside after finishing his business, he passed through the curtain into the kitchen. Sure enough, the lady had cooked him a bowl of oatmeal and flavored it with honey.

“Thank you,” Haern said, accepting the bowl and using his fingers to scoop it into his mouth. “What is your name?”

She kept busy scrubbing and tending to the rest of breakfast, all so she could avoid looking him in the eye.

“Evelyn,” she said.

“Thank you for the meal, Evelyn. How fares the boy?”

“I looked in on him while you slept. His fever still burns, and don’t think he’ll get to keep that right arm. Don’t worry, though, if it comes to that. I’ve done it before, and not just on animals. For most my neighbors, I’m the closest to a healer we got.”

“Your husband explained my request?” Haern asked.

She finally looked at him, and he liked the strength he saw in her.

“He told me enough, and I have a brain to figure out the rest. We’d have taken him in without the coin or need for threats. I pity the life you’ve led if you thought either was necessary.”

The comment stung, far deeper than she probably meant it to.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” he said. “I must be going. Take care of the boy.”

“We will. Safe travels to you, Haern. That bag on the table is yours. It should last you until you reach Felwood, assuming that’s the direction you’re headed.”

Inside was a small selection of salted meats. He took it and left without checking on the boy, fully trusting Evelyn and her husband to know what was best. He wanted to get back to Veldaren, to the world he understood. He’d watched the farmer talk to his boys. Matthew was raising them to be like him, just like his own father had. But there was no malice, no underlying threat of violence to ensure perfection and obedience. The obedience was expected, sure, but he’d felt the love within it in that household. Living under Thren’s roof, he’d felt only paranoia, expectations, and disappointment. He’d loved Senke, loved Kayla, loved Delysia. None of their fates had been kind because of it. At least Delysia had lived, though he’d lost her to the temple of Ashhur.

The pond was not far from the road, and he saw Matthew in the distance. Haern waved, and Matthew waved back. He promised himself to return, not just to check the fate of the boy, but to have another night of sleep like he’d had. So many nights and days he’d slumbered on the side of the street, and he’d forgotten the comforts of a warm bed. Perhaps it was time to consider paying for lodgings at one of the inns, his various personae be damned.

The snow had stopped, and the coat did wonders to keep him warm. He nibbled on the meat Evelyn had given him, and despite its salt, he found he enjoyed the flavor. He walked along the road and tried to decide how far he was from Veldaren. Much of his walk carrying the boy had been in a frozen delirium. He couldn’t even guess how many miles he’d travelled, and like a fool he hadn’t asked either Matthew or Evelyn before he’d left. Oh well. She’d given him enough to reach Felwood Castle, and guessing by the food, it should be four days, three if she assumed him a heavy eater. From there it’d be a week or so back to Veldaren.

Near midday he heard the sound of hoofbeats. He felt his spirits brighten. If he could beg a ride, he might reach the castle far sooner. But the sound was coming from the wrong way, just a trick of the woods he walked through. Horsemen appeared in the distance, and his pulse quickened at the sight. They wore the same symbol as the horsemen who’d attacked the caravan. Were they still searching for him?

He hurried off the road, wishing he’d had time to hide his footprints. It’d be an easy trail to follow. Damn the snow!

They rode right on by. If they saw his tracks, they didn’t care about them in the slightest. Haern let out a breath he’d been holding and returned to the road. Tightening his coat, he hurried on, determined to gain as much distance as possible before nightfall.

Evelyn had given him a small piece of flint and steel in his bag of food, which he found immeasurably kind. Off the road, he built a fire and slept by it through the night, waking every few hours or so to toss a log upon it and poke the embers with a stick to reignite the flame. He ate the bulk of his food in the morning, saving a little bit for a snack should it take him longer than expected to reach the Felwood. He kept his eye out for more riders, but none came. He passed another caravan moving north, loaded with salt and farming equipment. They offered him a ride, but he smiled and gestured south.

“Heading the wrong way,” he said before continuing on.

Not long after he’d wolfed down the rest of his food, he reached the forest of Felwood. From there he continued until he reached the castle. He still had a few coins from the caravan, and he used them to pay for lodgings, food, and a warm room. He left come morning, feeling worlds better than he had before.

The days passed, and he continued his travel. Fires at night kept him comfortable, and steadily the weather warmed, a front of southern air coming along and mocking the snow. At last he reached the King’s Forest. Heartened, Haern jogged at a steady pace. Once he curled around the woods, he’d arrive in no time at Veldaren. He couldn’t wait. Never before had he realized how much he considered the city home.

Twenty minutes later he saw smoke rising from further ahead. Wary of the cause, he upped his pace while slipping closer to the forest so he might hide at a moment’s notice. He rounded a bend, and then stumbled upon a terribly familiar sight. A single wagon was under attack, but instead of horsemen, he recognized them as members of the Serpent Guild. He counted eight of them circling the wagon, most holding bows or crossbows. From where he stood, he couldn’t see any of the defenders, but by the way the Serpents stayed low, refusing to approach, he knew them still alive.

“I leave for a spell and you grow brave enough to assault travelers in daylight?” Haern whispered as he peered around a tree. “I think it’s time the Watcher left a message no guild can ignore.”

He stayed close to the tree line, and once within fifty yards of the wagon, he vanished into the woods completely. Three of the Serpents hid at the edge of the forest, using trees as cover while they fired their crossbows. Haern swung wide so he could approach them directly from behind. He heard them muttering as he neared, offering each other advice where to shoot or where they thought the defenders were hiding.

Haern cursed the vegetation as he neared. He’d heard of men so accustomed to the wild that they could pass across dry leaves without making a sound, yet he crushed twigs and brushed at leaves no matter how stealthy he tried to be. What he’d give for a paved road and the shadows of a building. The three were too focused on the wagon, though, to notice what little noise he made. He thanked Ashhur for small favors.

“Watch for a hand,” the rightmost Serpent said. He looked older than the others, and Haern wondered if he was their leader. “Don’t let that yellow bastard have even a moment, or we’re all dead.”

Haern was less than five feet behind him. With his swords drawn, he took another step, amused that they were so afraid of those in the wagon. Had they bitten off more than they could chew? And who might this ‘yellow bastard’ be? It didn’t matter. He was out of time. Already the Serpents on the other side were closing in, either more confident in their abilities, or having killed some of those inside, he didn’t know. Deciding the one on the right was the most dangerous, he rushed in, his swords leading.

His first attack sliced through the Serpent’s back and into his lung. Haern didn’t bother muffling his scream or holding him steady, for the other two were too near. He slashed with his left arm, hoping for an easy cut, but the thief fell just out of reach. Twisting his blade free, he kicked away the dying man and turned his attention to the other two. The closest tossed his bow and drew a dagger, but the other…

Haern dropped to his belly, the crossbow bolt screaming over his head. The Serpent dove after him, and he rolled, deflecting the thrusts with his swords as he tried to gain distance. He rolled his knees underneath him and then kicked, leaping backward and to his feet. Instead of pressing the advantage, his opponent remained back, a grin on his face.

“Idiot,” said the Serpent as his comrade fired another bolt.

Twisting his cloaks, Haern hoped to confuse him, but as the pain bit deep into his shoulder he knew he’d only partially succeeded. He continued his spin, using his cloaks to obstruct their view of him. It’d only gain him a moment, an extra step closer, but if they were staying defensive, hoping to down him with arrows instead of blades…

He pulled out of the spin, putting every bit of his strength into his jump. He crashed into the closest, pure luck keeping the thief’s dagger from impaling him. As they hit the ground, Haern twisted so his elbow slammed against the man’s throat. The Serpent spewed blood. Before the other could respond, he lashed out, knocking the crossbow off aim. The third bolt struck a tree, its dull thud music to Haern’s ears. Without a melee weapon, his opponent had no chance. Haern’s assault was wild and brutal, with no hint of defense. Two slashes took out the man’s throat, and a third across his hamstring brought him down to the dirt to die.

Finally given a chance to breathe, he cursed and grabbed the bolt in his shoulder. It was deep in his flesh, and a quick glance at the man’s quiver showed barbed heads he couldn’t dare pull out. Gritting his teeth, he recited a mantra he’d been trained as a child, one to help him ignore the effects of pain. He clutched the shaft tighter. Another recital, followed by a deep exhalation. He pushed the bolt through and out the other side.

He screamed.

Tossing the bolt, he leaned against a tree and struggled to catch his breath. It didn’t look like the bolt was poisoned-another lucky break. Evidently the Serpents hadn’t thought their upcoming ambush dangerous enough to spend the time and coin applying some. He looked to the wagon, curious to the state of affairs. He couldn’t see those on the other side, but he saw one Serpent lying dead upon the road, his body curiously aflame. That left four alive at the most. So far none appeared to have detected his ambush, which was all the best. He needed another moment to recover.

But then that moment vanished, for the wagon caught fire.

“Shit,” he muttered. One of the Serpents must have tossed oil and a torch. Black smoke billowed to the air, blocking nearly all his view of the events. Knowing the thieves would be rushing to cut down the survivors, he charged. Pain spiked up his entire left arm, and the sword hung limp in his hand as he ran. He’d block with it if necessary, but it seemed the killing would be restricted to his right.

A figure crawled out of the smoke toward him, a red-haired woman in white.

“Run to the trees!” he shouted to her, not stopping. He swerved about her and leapt straight into the smoke. The heat was tremendous, but so far the fire was restricted to the outer covering. No survivors remained within. He saw a gap in the tarpaulin and leapt.

Just before he landed and rolled, he had a split-second to survey the fight and react. Four Serpents formed a half-circle around the wagon, easily identifiable with their green cloaks. Three men faced them, one in yellow robes wielding a staff, another in gray parrying with two maces, and the third a portly man holding back with a single club to protect himself. There was something tremendously familiar about the way the man with the maces fought, but Haern had no time. He rolled closer to the fat man, no doubt the caravan’s driver or owner. He seemed the least skilled, unable to fend off the single Serpent who weaved side to side.

Haern kicked out of his roll, using his good arm to run the Serpent through. Their collision sent them both tumbling, and Haern screamed as he felt something hard strike his wounded shoulder, and screamed again as a sharp pain pierced his stomach. He rolled off the corpse and saw blood, his blood, covering the thief’s dagger. This time his collision had not been so lucky. Struggling to stand, he turned to the others, his vision a blur of pain, smoke, and tears. One of the two fighting the man in gray had pulled off to address the new threat, and Haern put his swords in position and tried to feign confidence.

His opponent dual-wielded shortswords, and he chopped with both, hoping to overpower Haern. Not a bad strategy, given his condition. He crossed his swords and blocked, the nerves in his wounded shoulder shrieking in protest at the collision. Twice, three times he chopped, as if Haern were a wall to be broken down. The third time Haern’s left arm gave out, and he twisted to avoid the deathblow. He feigned a retreat, but then instead kicked his right foot out, tripping the Serpent. He slashed with his good arm, but it wasn’t lethal, just a cut across the thief’s chest. It bought him time, and this time he did retreat. Blood flowed across his shirt and down his pants. He felt its warmth along his left arm as well. He coughed, and he hoped it was only the smoke, not something worse, that caused it.

His opponent, infuriated by the cut, charged like a mad animal. Haern braced his legs and met it head on, just barely slapping the thrusts aside. Again they collided, but this time he was better positioned. His knee slammed into his attacker’s groin, and he let his wounded arm absorb most of the impact. When the Serpent collapsed to the ground, Haern practically fell upon him. One sword dropped from his left hand, but he stabbed with his right and leaned all his weight upon it. The blade pierced the thief’s belly and bit into the dirt, pinning him there. He thrashed for a moment as he bled out, then went still.

Haern only felt marginally better than the man he killed. The collision had torn the cut on his arm further open, as well as angering the arrow wound. His stomach still ached. He didn’t know how deep it went, but it felt horrendous. He struggled to stand, but couldn’t. At last he yanked out his sword and fell to his back, his breath coming in hurried gasps. So much for leaving the guilds a message. So much for inspiring terror. He’d killed five, only five…

The sounds of fighting ended. His head swam. A man leaned over him, a face he recognized from his past. Another joined it, younger, and female. He was delusional now, he realized. How else to explain why two people, one dead, one missing, spoke down to him, their voices muffled as if speaking through water? How else to explain why Senke was telling him to hold on? Or how Delysia was tearing at his clothes to see the wound in his stomach? He felt pressure there, and then his vision turned yellow, all shapes outlined in red. Sound faded, and then he saw nothing at all.