A Dance of Ghosts

CHAPTER 7

Lord Victor Kane stood before the mirror and adjusted the collar of his shirt for the third time.

“Forget it,” he said, yanking off the silken garment. “It’s not me, anyway.”

Instead, he put on a plain undershirt, followed by his finely woven chain mail shirt. It was heavy, but when he clasped his sword belt to his waist, it helped to distribute some of the weight. That done, he grabbed his sword, pulled a tunic with his family’s crest over his head, and then looked once more into the mirror. This time, he looked ready for battle, the rings of his chain mail shining in the light streaming in through his window.

Much better, he thought. Better he be comfortable than pretend to be something he wasn’t.

“Milord?” asked a man at the door after a quick set of knocks.

“Come in, Sef,” Victor said.

The door opened, and into Victor’s small room stepped Sef Battleborn, a heavyset and bearded man whose long brown hair had more than a fair share of gray in it. Sef had been a loyal soldier of his family for decades now, and Victor hoped he’d be around for decades more.

“Going to Alyssa’s again?” he asked, looking Victor up and down.

“Hard to woo a woman when you’re not at her side.”

“The poets say differently.”

“The poets write their ballads so that young maidens will throw themselves at their feet afterwards,” Victor said, tugging on his chain mail to readjust its weight so it was centered instead of too far on his right shoulder. “And since when do you listen to poets?”

“When I’m off drinking,” Sef said. “Something you used to do with me before all this started.”

Victor ran a hand through his hair, glanced at Sef.

“Is there a reason you’re here, other than to complain about my not getting shit-faced with you at a tavern?”

“Sadly, there is,” Sef said, and he sighed. “The mercenary captains have all gathered downstairs. They want to be paid, Victor, and they aren’t leaving until they get what they think is theirs.”

“How many?” Victor asked Sef, who stood in the doorway to Victor’s room looking miserable.

“Fifteen,” his old friend said. “If you tally up those under their command, it’s nearly six hundred of our mercenaries.”

Six hundred of their remaining thousand. Victor slowly stood from his chair, walked over to Sef.

“Fetch me soldiers still loyal to my cause,” he said. “Have them outside in case I need them.”

“Yes, my lord,” Sef said, bowing his head. “Will you come speak with the captains?”

“In a moment,” Victor said. “Just … tell them to give me a moment.”

When the door closed, Victor walked back to his desk and grabbed his dagger off it. Staring into the edge, he asked himself how far he was willing to go. His parents’death … how far must he go before they were avenged? How much spilled blood was the city of Veldaren truly worth?

“One more drop,” he said to his distorted reflection upon the blade. “Every day it seems I say it: just one more drop…”

Was that how rivers began, with just one more drop? He didn’t know, but what he did know was that the memory of his parents was worth an ocean; sheathing the dagger on his belt, he flung open the door to his room and marched down the steps into the lower floor of his converted tavern. Sitting in chairs, standing at the bar, by the door, and leaning against the walls were the various mercenary captains. Victor knew them all well, had befriended many of them over the past few years. They’d formed the backbone of his forces required to cleanse the scourge of the underworld from Veldaren. But it’d all been a gamble relying on the king to help shoulder the load of paying them, and as the men had died and the grumbles began, that gamble had failed spectacularly.

“He emerges,” said Joras One-Eye, sitting at a table with a large glass in his left hand. A bit of foam from the beer within coated his short beard. “I hope you managed to find a few extra bags of gold underneath your bed while we waited.”

Victor walked over to him, and while the others watched, he stole Joras’s drink and finished it himself. Feeling the burn going down, he used it to give himself the extra push he needed.

“I see no reason for this farce,” he told them. “Time. That is all I ask for. How much coin have I already poured into your open hands? Surely you can trust me to wait a few weeks more…”

“Hard for a dead man to pay his debts,” Joras said. “And we all know that’s what you are: a dead man walking.”

“If you all did your damn jobs, the danger on my life would be irrelevant.” He glared at them, then set his glass back down on the table. “Nothing has changed. Come here and threaten as you wish, but it won’t get you your gold. If you want to disband and send your men home, then do it. If you won’t wait for your payment, then you won’t receive it. The truth is that simple.”

“Aye, that’s simple, all right,” said another of the captains, a hefty man with two axes strapped to his belt. “So how’s about we make it simple for you, Lord Kane? If we don’t get paid, me and my men go find our payment elsewhere. How about in your family lands? I think there’s a few extra silvers lost in those golden wheat fields of yours.”

“I hear women can go for a pretty handful of silvers in parts of the world, too,” a third captain piped up.

“Are you threatening me?” Victor asked.

“I think we are,” Joras said, standing. The others mumbled their agreement. “And I think you need to give us a better answer than the one we’ve had. All of us have bled and died for you, for this wretched city, and while you might be a weeping-heart fool, we aren’t doing it for the good of our souls.”

“Good of our pockets, maybe,” someone from the back chimed in.

Victor swallowed hard, and when Sef stepped inside, Victor nodded.

“So be it,” he said. “Give me but a moment, and I will see what I can do. Good men as you deserve payment for the work you’ve done.”

He walked to the door, patted Sef on the shoulder, and then together, they stepped outside.

Gathered in loose formation by the door were three hundred soldiers, the ones most loyal to Victor’s family. Victor knew he should feel pride at their supporting him, but those three hundred had also been paid. It seemed even the loyal must still be bought.

“Kill them all,” he said to Sef. With a quick set of hand motions, Sef sent in several squads of the three hundred. They stormed through the door of the tavern, and shouts of warning quickly sounded from within, followed by the clash of metal and cries of pain.

“Inform the other mercenaries they are to be dismissed,” Victor said to Sef. “Tell them they will be paid in time if they are patient, but the moment I hear what I consider dangerous talk, they will be executed on the spot.”

“They’re not going to be happy about their captains’ deaths,” Sef said. “They might seek vengeance.”

“Then they can get in line.”

As the sound of combat from inside began to die down, Victor turned away and walked down the street. Sef hurried to join him and he asked where he intended to go.

“Anywhere,” Victor said. “Anywhere but here. I need some fresh air. I need to remind myself why I even bother with this damn city.”

Sef hardly looked pleased, but he accepted the answer and walked alongside him. Victor’s first thought had been to go to the market, to buy himself a small trinket or perhaps something fine to eat in an attempt to cheer himself up. The coming days would be ugly, for once the various mercenary groups elected new captains and finished with their interpersonal bickering, they’d be back again to demand money … and he doubted those who did would come alone like their former captains had.

As they walked, Victor noticed how quiet the street seemed, how few people milled about. He felt his instincts begin to cry danger, but the moment the group of five stepped out from one of the alleys ahead, he knew it was too late.

“Victor…” Sef said beside him, reaching for his ax, but Victor grabbed his wrist so he would not ready it.

“Stay calm,” Victor said. He glanced over his shoulder, saw three more stepping out to block any retreat. One held a drawn dagger, the other two large crossbows. All of them bore the pointed star of the Sun Guild. Bringing his attention back to the front, he braced himself for a potential fight. He’d long known of the Sun Guild’s advance, but since their return to Veldaren, he’d yet to strike at them and they at him. Hand settling on the hilt of his sword, he prayed it would remain that way.

Of the five approaching, the one in the center stood out above the rest. He wore a long leather coat that had been stained a dark black, his umber hair tied into braids and pulled back from his face. His long ears were scarred at the top, revealing his elven heritage. Most obvious of all, though, was the blackened hand when he lifted it in greeting, making his following introduction unnecessary.

“Greetings, Lord Victor Kane,” said the elf with the scarred ears. “I am Muzien the Darkhand, master of the Sun Guild.”

“Shit,” muttered Sef.

“Your reputation precedes you,” Victor said, louder. “I wondered if you would someday come calling.”

Muzien smiled, and he seemed so pleasant, so calm, it made Victor all the more nervous. Only a man of absolute confidence could enter such a meeting in broad daylight and be so relaxed.

“Every man and woman of importance within this city shall have their time before me,” Muzien said, and he continued his slow pace, arms clasped behind his back as if he were on a careless midday stroll. “Whether they spend it on their knees or facedown in a pool of their own blood will be up to them.”

Again, Sef looked ready to grab his ax, but Victor glared his way, ensuring such a foolish action did not happen.

“Consider me flattered you think of me as a man of importance,” Victor said, trying to keep his voice light. The last thing he wanted was to reveal fear before someone such as Muzien. It’d be like throwing bloody meat before a pack of hungry wolves.

“How could I not?” Muzien stopped just outside sword’s reach, the remaining four with him lingering behind. The elf crossed his arms before him, and he narrowed his eyes as an amused smile spread across his lips. “After all, are you not the man who was to come into this city and cleanse it to its very core? Were you not here to deny us our shadows, to bring us into the light so we might wither and die? My, how people talk of you. All my ears hear are pomp and pride and an idiocy so stubborn, it must be religious zeal. So, here I am, and here you are, yet you do not act against me. My men live, and trust me when I say this, Victor, they still find plenty of shadows.”

“Circumstances change,” Victor said, trying not to let his bruised ego dictate his speech. “Surely you can understand that better than most.”

“Indeed, I can.”

Muzien gestured to his left, to where a stone tile bearing the symbol of the Sun Guild was freshly dug into the earth just before the entrance to a brothel.

“Circumstances have changed,” the elf said. “And it is not to your advantage, you petty lord of a beggar kingdom. Sell all your lands and all your titles. Bring to me the sum of your wealth and lay it before my feet so I may spit on it as unworthy of the time it’d take to stoop down and take into my hands. I have no desire to deal with you. I don’t want to see your men, I don’t want to hear word of your inquisitors, your books, or your record keepers. All your systems and courts mean nothing to me. They will not save you, nor will they stop me, so if you wish to live, you will abandon whatever idealistic notions you have and return to your home.”

“Things aren’t so simple as that,” Victor said, and this time it took more effort than he thought he could muster to keep his temper in check. Never before in his life had he been treated as so thoroughly inferior. “I have no intention of leaving, and if you kill me, the other lords of the land will realize how great a threat you are.”

“The other lords will see you receiving the fate they all anticipated the moment you marched into this city with your banner held high,” Muzien said. “Do not try to play politics with me, human. You’re not skilled enough for the dance.”

The elf snapped his fingers, and the rest turned to go.

“This city is mine,” he said. “Like the sun, from the ground I rise. I control the thief guilds along with the common folk in their slums. The merchants and the lords will soon follow. When kings are in my pocket, you will find yourself alone, and when you do, pray it is far, far from here.”

And with that, he marched away. Sef and Victor remained still, both trembling with rage. A glance behind them showed that the Sun Guild rogues with their crossbows and knives had also left.

“That fucking elven bastard,” Sef said. “You’d think he has the king’s crown jammed up his asshole with how he struts about, acting like he owns everything he sees.”

Victor shook his head, thinking of the reports he’d read recently.

“He’s not that far off,” he said. “Come on, while we still have our dignity.”

They continued their walk, Sef mumbling curses, Victor silent with his mind racing. If Muzien was confident enough to openly mock him, then his takeover of the underworld had to be nearly complete. Nearly, but not quite, because at least one guild still resisted him … at least, as far as Victor knew. He had to find out for sure. He had to know if his lone ally in the darkness was still willing to be his loyal monster.

“Change of direction,” Victor said. “We’ve a graveyard to visit.”

Sef started to ask, realized what it meant, and then shook his head.

“Day keeps getting worse,” he muttered.

It took twenty minutes to cut through the weaving rows of homes gathered in the far south of the city, always heading east toward the wall. The farther east they went, the more spacious the homes grew, less crowded together. By the time they hit the wealthiest corner, many were surrounded by tall fences, with a few even sporting a bored mercenary or two keeping watch at the entrance. And then, in the midst of all the grand buildings and obvious wealth, like a mocking reminder to the fate of such owners, was a cemetery. Victor was certain that was the reason Deathmask had chosen to flee there in the first place.

“Wait here,” Victor told Sef. The man was never pleased with the order, but every time they’d come, outside he remained, as per Deathmask’s orders. Past the opened gate surrounding the cemetery, there were many crypts, each marked by the name of its wealthy family. Some still existed, such as the Gemcrofts, whereas others like the Blackbards and the Garlands were long dead and gone, falling to poverty or extinction. It was to the Gemcroft one he went, and as he climbed down the cold stone steps, Victor couldn’t help but chuckle at the irony. Just as he went to Lady Gemcroft’s mansion for money for his mercenaries and prestige to validate his actions, now he went to her family’s long-forgotten burial tomb for aid of a far darker sort.

The only light within came from the open entrance, and at its farthest edge, leaning with her back against one of the coffins placed in gaps carved into the stone walls, sat Veliana.

“Well, this is unexpected,” said Veliana, amusement twinkling in her right eye. The other was a bloodied red; seeing it made Victor uneasy. If there was anything that made him squeamish, it was having things near his eyes or watching something done to other people’s eyes.

“I find that hard to believe,” Victor said. “Usually, your group knows of what happens in Veldaren sooner than I do.”

“Perhaps,” Veliana said. She hopped down from her perch, smoothed out her pants. “But I fear today I am alone in here. Did I miss something fun up top? New developments, clever schemes?”

She stepped closer, pulling her dark gray cloak tighter about her body and smirking up at him.

“Of course not,” she said. “It is the Sun Guild, always the Sun, every street, every corner, every plot and lie.”

“You sound displeased by this,” Victor said.

“And why wouldn’t we be?” asked someone from the entrance, his shadow falling over them as its caster blocked the sunlight. Victor turned, felt the corner of his mouth tug.

“I heard how you have always thrived in chaos,” Victor told Deathmask as the guildmaster entered the crypt. “Then what greater chaos is this?”

“This isn’t chaos,” Deathmask said, shaking his head. “It’s a slow, steady conquest. Muzien is the opposite of chaos, Victor, and more like an unstoppable force. By the Abyss, if there’s going to be any way we can stop him, it’ll be through pure, unchecked chaos.”

“A bit simple,” Victor said, “but I’m not here to argue. Muzien surrounded me with his men today, and he’s threatened my death if I do not leave. During his little bit of bravado, he claimed the underworld was his. I’ve come to see if that really is the case.”

Deathmask walked right past Victor, stopped to kiss Veliana on the cheek, and then stepped into the darkness of the crypt. As he walked, torches hooked to the top of the hall at either side burst to life, burning purple flame that gave off no smoke. At Veliana’s beckon, Victor followed. They passed by row after row of the dead, finely crafted stone mimicries of their human bodies sealing in their dusty bones. At last, they reached the end, and upon a great stone wall that marked the crypt’s limits was a map of the city stretching from corner to corner, easily twice Victor’s size. The detail was impressive, crisscrossing streets, labeled shops, brothels, taverns, even marks to show where prostitutes gathered together when not employed by the brothels. Most important, though, were the colored lines made out of string that portrayed the limits of the various thief guilds.

Lying on the floor were piles of thread, green and red and black and blue. On the map, there were only three colors: a dark gray, a white, and a yellow. The gray and white shared but a small stretch, whereas encircling nearly the entire city from wall to wall were line after line of yellow.

“It’s down to just the two of us left to fight,” Deathmask said, snapping his fingers so that another torch sprang to life directly above them, giving them more light to view the map. “Cynric’s Wolf Guild is holding out best they can, but I’m fairly certain he’s received his final ultimatum from the Sun Guild.”

“Will Cynric cave in to Muzien’s demands?” Victor asked.

Deathmask shook his head.

“Cynric’s too much of a warrior. Plenty of his guild will turn on him, but that’s to be expected. His core group of men will stay. They all remember the glory days at the start of the thief war, and I daresay Cynric was quite fond of it, too. The other guilds may have built their little empires trading women and wine, but killing has always been what Cynric excelled at best.”

Victor crossed his arms, feeling overwhelmed by the sheer size of the map. So much yellow thread …

“Does he have a chance?” he asked.

Veliana laughed at his question.

“If he did,” she asked, “don’t you think we’d be out there with him? No, he has no chance. He’s excellent at hunting down prey, and he’ll hurt Muzien before he’s done, but this is something beyond his skill and understanding.”

“It might even be beyond ours,” Deathmask said, shaking his head. “I thought crushing Grayson’s advance would have stalled the Sun Guild, at least make them rethink things. Instead, it seems to have only made them more careful.”

“We need to act soon,” Victor said. “Find out where Muzien is, where he sleeps, where he eats. I know you can discover this, and when he’s alone, we can surround him with my soldiers and bring him down. We crushed Grayson, we crushed Thren Felhorn, and we can handle Muzien. Even if we can’t kill him, we just have to make it not worth the risk, neither the men we kill nor the coin we take.”

Deathmask chuckled, quiet at first, then louder as it seemed a bit of insanity leaked into his mismatched red and brown eyes. Reaching out, he grabbed the thread signifying the Wolf Guild and yanked it to the ground, followed by the dark gray of his own.

“You don’t get it, Victor,” he said. “The Darkhand trained Grayson. He trained Thren. At the Council of Mages, we were well aware of those two bastards long before they ever stepped foot into Veldaren to make their mark on the city. They were Muzien’s chosen heirs, just in case someone ever managed to sneak a lucky knife into the elf’s back. They were to conquer Veldaren, to make it an extension of Muzien’s empire in the west. And for a long while they looked to succeed, the Spider Guild a perfect mirror image of the Sun Guild … but then everything collapsed. Nothing Thren built seemed to endure. The guilds continued to war, the Trifect scored its victories, and then the Watcher reared his pretty little head.”

“What are you saying?” Victor asked.

Deathmask turned, jammed a finger against Victor’s breastplate.

“What I’m saying is that Muzien’s come to succeed where his heirs failed. Loss of coin means nothing. Death of his men means nothing. When I said he came here to conquer, I wasn’t being snide or melodramatic, because that is exactly what is happening. This is a war, and we fight against one of the greatest minds to ever take up the blade. Muzien might have one day ruled over the Dezren elves as their king, but he was banished for being viewed as too extreme by even those pointy-eared pricks. Muzien sees Veldaren as a foreign city to be conquered in war. The loyalty he inspires in his guild, the careful distribution of power, the aura of fear that accompanies his name, it all puts the guilds here to shame. Only Thren has ever come close, and now he’s dead or missing. The priests of Karak hold the king and queen of Mordan in their pockets, and even they have been forced to broker deals with Muzien lest they be destroyed. We have no hope here, Victor, not even the tiniest shred.”

All the while Victor’s hands clenched and unclenched. First from Muzien’s own lips, and now from Deathmask’s, he must hear how amazing the Darkhand was, how unbeatable. The sheer worshipfulness of it was infuriating, and at last he could stand no more.

“He’s not a god!” he shouted, drawing his sword and slashing through the map of Veldaren. “He can be killed, just like any other. I know you believe that, because why else haven’t you surrendered?”

Deathmask grinned, unbothered by the drawing of Victor’s sword.

“Do you know why I still fight?” he asked. “Because I cannot stand to lose. Muzien is a legend, but new legends are born in the deaths of the old. We have no hope here, but we had none to begin with. We have insanity. We have chaos. We will need to use the weapons available to us, the weapons that care not for rationality and tactics. We need men willing to kill and burn, coin to bribe and swindle. I need an army unafraid of both the king and the Darkhand. Can you get that for me, Victor?”

Victor swallowed, and he thought of the men he’d executed only hours earlier.

“I need time,” he said. “But how do I know you’re not using me for your own ends? What makes you a better choice than Muzien?”

“I sought only to use Veldaren as a playground for my amusement,” Deathmask said. “Muzien would rule it like a god. Why do you think he let you live? Every subject, from the lowliest of peasants to the greatest of kings, will have their chance to kneel in service. Those who submit will receive their rewards. Those who disobey, he’ll thoroughly destroy. If you need assurance, then have it. I will never kneel, not to a god, and certainly not to him.”

Victor turned, gestured to the map.

“Then we still do have a chance. One, just one, but it is something. I can get you your army, Deathmask, one bought and paid for. It’s already waiting for us, if only I can convince her.”

“You speak of Alyssa Gemcroft,” said Veliana.

“That’s right,” Victor said. “Her wealth, her mercenaries … combine your power with that of the Trifect and we can crush this damn elf once and for all. But I have to convince her how dangerous Muzien is, and that won’t be easy. Until she trusts me, or her fear of the Darkhand breaks her pride, she’ll refuse my advances. Can you buy me time?”

“You need not worry about us,” Deathmask said, and he smiled. “We are ghosts when we need to be. It’s you who I fear for. Keep your head down and your actions quiet. The moment Muzien thinks you still plot against him, he will crush you with his heel.”

Victor shook his head, blood still boiling in his veins.

“If he does,” he said, “then Muzien will discover that even in death, some small things can still sting.”