A Dance of Ghosts

CHAPTER 14

King Edwin Vaelor had just blown out the last candle in his bedroom when he heard a man clear his throat. He froze, sudden fear paralyzing him where he stood. The little orange dot that was the candlewick slowly faded out, completing the darkness.

“Who’s there?” Edwin asked. His room was large, without windows. Too easy for someone to climb in. All day and night, guards watched the doors to his room. No one should have been inside, yet when a soft chuckle greeted his words, there was no doubt that someone was.

“I’ve been curious to meet you,” said the invader, ignoring the question. The voice came from his large four-poster bed, and when Edwin took a step back, the man shimmered into view. His ears were maimed, and he wore a long dark coat, his shirt and pants a pale gray. Both hands were resting easily on his lap as he sat on his bed. Edwin could not puzzle out where the light was coming from, for it just seemed that amid the darkness, there was the elf, as if his very skin and coat glowed the softest of colors.

“Scream and you’ll die,” said the elf, tapping his fingers on the hilts of his swords.

Edwin almost did anyway, nearly shrieked for his guards to come and rescue him, but the elf’s tone was so commanding, so certain of itself, that he kept his mouth shut.

“Excellent. You’re capable of behaving. That’s a good sign, Edwin. If you continue this, then you might live through the coming months.”

“Who are you?” Edwin asked as the elf rose to his feet, still atop the bed. He seemed so thin, but what muscle was there looked corded and tight, a feline predator eager to pounce on its prey.

“You should know if your advisors are worth anything, or if you would bother to listen to them if they are. I am Muzien the Darkhand, come from Mordeina, and you and I must have a few words. Between us, I would like there to be an understanding.”

Edwin felt a tremble work its way up and down his neck.

“I do know,” he said. “You came here from the west. Gerand assured me you would be no more a bother than any other of the guilds.”

Muzien flashed him a smile.

“He was wrong.”

Off the bed he jumped, landing silently mere feet away from the king at the foot of the bed. He did not draw his swords, yet Edwin tensed anyway, expecting to die, or at least to suffer some sort of horrible injury. Despite it, he did not cry out for guards, and he felt ashamed at his own cowardice.

“What … what do you want from me?” Edwin asked, trying to muster up some kernel of bravery.

Muzien took another step, his smile fading away. It felt like he was being analyzed, dissected with his innards revealed, and the elf did not appear impressed with what he found.

“You will continue to rule because I allow it,” he said. “Not because of your soldiers, and not through your birthright. The Sun comes to Veldaren, and you will not interfere with its rise. At any time, I can kill you; do you understand? If you fear death, then stay clear of my path. Tell your soldiers to look the other way when they see the four-pointed star. They are not to investigate killings done with my mark left upon them. They will charge us no tariffs to enter the city, they will investigate none of my merchandise, and your tax collectors will never see a single coin come from my pocket. Am I clear, or must I carve it into your chest so you will remember?”

Edwin swallowed down what felt like a jagged stone in the back of his throat.

“I’ll make sure my soldiers know,” he said.

Muzien smiled.

“Not so hard, is it? Obedience will come naturally, I assure you, just as it does for all humans. You were never meant to lead, only serve.”

He turned, leaped back onto the bed, and then continued to walk. Whatever light kept him visible faded away, and come the room’s descent into total darkness, Edwin turned, ran toward the door, and beat his fists upon it as he screamed.

“Guards!”

The following morning, Guard Captain Antonil Copernus stood before the western wall of the castle, arms crossed over his chest as he glared at what he saw. Every few feet, forming a line that covered the entire wall’s length, were stone tiles of the Sun Guild, each one bearing their four-pointed star. They’d been placed sometime during the night, dug into the hard earth and then left for his guards to find come their morning patrols.

“What do you want us to do with them when we’re done?” asked one of his soldiers as he knelt before a tile, trying and failing to get a grip around it with his fingers.

“Grab a shovel,” Antonil said as five more guards showed up to help with the removal. “And hurl them outside the city from the wall. May not mean much, but a symbolic victory is still a victory.”

“In this case, I’m afraid it is neither,” said Gerand Crold, coming around the corner. He looked exhausted, the smile on his face clearly forced. Time had not been kind to Gerand, his hair now fully gray, deep wrinkles under his eyes made worse by the scar that ran from his left eye to his ear. When he talked, he sounded painfully tired.

“How so?” Antonil asked the king’s advisor.

“Leave them,” Gerand said, ignoring him and instead addressing the soldiers. “Put your shovels down and leave them where they lie.”

Antonil grabbed Gerand’s arm and pulled him away from his men.

“Care to tell me what’s going on?” he asked.

“Unhand me and I will.”

Antonil let go, and he took a step back, mad at himself for losing his temper.

“Forgive me,” he said. “Now please, tell me what reason justifies leaving such blatant disrespect for our liege in plain view of the castle.”

“If you think this is my doing, you’re wrong,” Gerand said. “I bring orders from King Edwin himself. The Sun Guild’s to be untouched.”

Antonil felt as if he’d been slapped by a metal gauntlet.

“Untouched? What does that mean, untouched?”

“It means exactly what it sounds like it means,” Gerand said. “All markings of the Sun Guild remain where they are. No apprehending their members, no questioning their merchants, nothing.”

“We’re to let them have free rein of the city?” Antonil asked, stepping closer and lowering his voice. “Has the king gone mad?”

“Truthfully? Yes, he has.” Gerand rubbed his eyes, which were painfully red. “I’ve been talking to him all night, Antonil, so whatever anger you have, you can stop directing it at me. I’ve never seen him this scared. Even Thren Felhorn didn’t frighten him so badly as this Muzien bastard has.”

“But you’re asking me to tell my men not to do their jobs,” Antonil insisted. “You’re asking me to have them ignore their duties, and allow petty crimes to…”

“You still don’t get it,” Gerand said, shaking his head. “Petty crimes? A member of the Sun can stab one of your guards to death, and you’re not to do a thing about it, Antonil. Have I made myself clear yet?”

Antonil fell silent. Gerand waited for him to respond, and when it was clear he wouldn’t, he let out a sigh.

“Don’t think of ignoring this edict, either,” he said. “My orders are very clear. Anyone who antagonizes the Sun Guild in any way and therefore puts the life of His Majesty at risk will be permanently banished from the city. Not that I expect those who are banished to get very far. Muzien doesn’t seem like the sort of fellow to let interlopers off lightly…”

“Gerand, you can’t let him do this,” Antonil said. He stared him in the eye, hoping that somewhere in him was an honorable man who knew such conditions could not be allowed to pass. “For the gods’ sake, you’re his advisor; he’ll listen to you.”

“And you’re his protector, yet Muzien slipped past your guards and patrols right into the king’s very bedroom,” Gerand said. “If you’d done your job, I’d be able to do mine. But now the king is a frightened child doing anything and everything he can to stay alive. My words mean nothing, as does your indignation. The Sun Guild owns Veldaren now, Antonil, and if you hope to remain part of its population, then start swallowing that fact down through any means necessary.”

With that, Gerand stormed away, mumbling to himself as he headed around the corner and back to the castle entrance. Antonil watched him go, ideas in his head slowly forming.

“Sir?” asked one of the soldiers beside the castle, and Antonil turned to see that all of them had stopped their work, waiting for his orders. He saw their loyalty, knew their opinions of the king. If he asked them to disobey, and march right through the gates of the Abyss, they’d follow with a song on their lips. But he would not ask that of them.

Yet.

“Leave the tiles be,” he said. “Resume your morning duties.”

They saluted, and he saluted back. That done, he knew he should gather together his captains and inform them of the king’s unofficial edict, but there was something he had to do first. Unescorted, he walked down the street, leaving the castle far behind him. He saluted the soldiers he passed, did his best to hide the miserable feeling in his chest. All around him, he saw his citizens-men, women, and children who relied on him to keep them safe. Except safe was last thing they’d be unless they bent knee to a foreign elf instead of their own king.

Damn you, Muzien, Antonil thought. Just you wait until the Watcher returns.

Haern had come to him just before his departure from the city, letting him know things might grow a little more restless than usual while he was off doing whatever it was he planned on doing. Antonil knew not to ask where he went, only trusted the mysterious protector of Veldaren to be doing what needed to be done. Still, “restless” did not describe the upheaval taking place during the weeks of his absence. It wasn’t chaos; it wasn’t like the early days of the thief war with mercenaries storming the streets, fighting the guilds in open warfare. It wasn’t even like Lord Victor’s initial attempts at cleaning up the city. Everything about it felt too insidious, too inevitable. Street by street he walked, seeing stone tiles proclaiming the territory of the Sun Guild, and he knew there was painfully little he could do about it.

But he had to try, and that’s why he arrived at Victor Kane’s repurposed tavern and dipped his head in respect to the guards at the door.

“I wish to speak with your master,” he said.

They did not have to ask who he was, his polished armor and royal tunic on his chest clearly labeling him as a servant of the king. One of the guards banged on the door, and when it opened, he spoke to the man within.

“Sir Antonil wishes to speak with Victor,” said the guard.

The door shut, and moments later, it opened completely, and a soldier gestured for Antonil to enter. He did, stepping into the dimly lit tavern, only now it served just Victor and his men. Many of the tables had been pushed aside, leaving a wide-open space before the bar. As Antonil walked in, he noticed bloodstains on the floor, and in nearly shocking amounts. He knew there’d been a battle inside it before, when Thren made a move to kill Victor, but that was months ago. Surely it should have been cleared up by now.

“Welcome to my home,” Victor said, sitting at one of the few remaining tables. He had two tall drinks before him, the glasses overflowing with foam, and he gestured for Antonil to take a seat. Antonil did so, and after hesitating, decided that despite the early hour, he really could go for a drink.

“So, what brings you here?” Victor asked, his own drink going untouched.

“Insanity,” Antonil said, thudding his glass back down onto the wooden table. “Insanity brings me here. Insanity in my king, insanity in his advisors, insanity in the streets, the guilds, everywhere. The whole damn world’s gone insane.”

“Since entering Veldaren, I’ve often wondered if I’m the only sane person left,” Victor said, grinning.

“That, or the only one insane enough to fight against the way the world is moving,” Antonil said. “But in the end, it doesn’t matter.” He glanced over his shoulder, to the man guarding the door. “What I speak, no one but us must hear. Are we safe?”

Victor nodded.

“My men are loyal. Whatever you need to say, say it.”

Antonil took in a deep breath, drank a bit more from his glass, and then let it out.

“I’m here to commit treason, Victor.”

To his credit, Victor handled the news well enough.

“Go on,” he said.

“Muzien and his Sun Guild have gotten to the king, and he’s given them complete immunity in all things. My guards aren’t to touch them, aren’t even to give them strange looks no matter what crimes they commit. I swear, this whole city’s rotting beneath me, and no matter how hard I try, the wood keeps peeling, the stones keep cracking. I won’t let this happen. I won’t sit back and watch my beloved city break. Not without a fight.”

Victor pushed aside his alcohol and leaned forward on his elbows.

“What are you telling me?” he asked. There was no denying the eagerness in his voice, in the way his eyes shone.

“I can’t fight Muzien, not openly,” he said. “But I have men who are loyal, and access to the king’s armory. If you’ll stand against him, I will ensure you have soldiers and weapons for them to wield. Our nation has not fought a war in over a decade, but I feel this is the closest we will be in my lifetime. I have no intention of losing.”

Antonil stood.

“You marched into this city proclaiming to cast out the men hiding in the shadows. By Karak, you even swore to remove the shadows themselves. Well, the city’s only darkened, Victor, and I need all the help I can get. Will you accept? Will you put your neck on the line where I cannot?”

Victor pushed aside his own chair as he stood.

“You are a rope thrown to a drowning man,” he said. “Give me soldiers, and I will save our city. I swear it upon my life and the honor of my family.”

Antonil could hardly believe the words he was saying, but it felt good. Terrifying, but good.

“When do you need my men?” he asked.

Victor scratched at his chin as he thought, his eyes staring into nowhere.

“Not yet,” he said. “I’ll come to you when I am ready. There is one more ally we need, and with your promise, I feel I can at last win them to my side. We must be strong, and when we strike, it must be overwhelming. Right now, Muzien views us as ants, insignificant to his plans, and we must keep him thinking as much. By the time he realizes his error, I pray we’ll be hoisting his head on a pike over the walls of the castle.”

He offered his hand, and Antonil clasped it and shook.

“Good men like us,” Antonil said, “we are the only hope this city knows.”

“This city doesn’t want good men,” said Victor. “I’ve watched it chew up and spit out dozens of men who thought themselves good, who thought they might bring about change. We commit treason and plot death in the shadows. We’re no longer good, but we’re what this city needs.”

Harsh words, but Antonil could not deny them.

“May it be enough,” he said, and with a salute, he exited the tavern and made his way back to the castle, to inform the soldiers of the city that until further notice, the Sun Guild ruled the streets.