A Dance of Shadows

CHAPTER 16

Zusa watched from the window of their second-story room as the crowd gathered about their gates. Alyssa stood beside her, a cold expression on her face.

“Do they blame me for this?” she asked. “Have they not forgiven me for the chaos my mercenaries caused?”

“People have long memories when they are suffering,” Zusa said, scanning the crowd. She could not hear their individual cries, but she spotted those who were the most vehement and shouting the loudest. A few wore guild colors, all the same.

“The Spider Guild is behind this,” she said. “Thren is turning their fear to his own ends.”

“It doesn’t matter who is behind it,” Melody said. She stood at the other set of windows in the room, Nathaniel at her side. “They won’t harm us, no matter what. I know it.”

“My guards will be enough,” Alyssa said, and Zusa caught the way her eyes narrowed when she saw how Melody tightly clutched Nathaniel’s hand in hers. “They once tried to burn my home to the ground. They failed, and they will fail again.”

“Of course they will,” Zusa said, kissing Alyssa’s cheek. “You have me.”

She pushed open the window and leaped through it, the cold wind blowing across her hair. Landing with a roll, she sprinted until she reached a tall oak tree. Climbing its limbs with ease, she neared the top and, hidden among the leaves, scanned the crowd anew, taking in numbers and weaponry. They were in the hundreds, far outnumbering Alyssa’s house guards. They were poorly geared, though, very few wielding any sort of weaponry beyond a torch or a knife.

More worrisome, though, was how she saw more than just the Spider Guild’s cloaks among them, lurking at the outer edges of the crowd. Hawks, Wolves, Serpents… it seemed every guild but the Ash had come to play. Many more foes might be hidden in the nearby homes and alleys, and could strike from any angle. So far the gate held, despite the throng that pressed against it. Torches could do little to the stone fence surrounding the estate. So long as they did not bring out ladders and rope, or find a way to…

“No,” she whispered. “Daverik, no!”

She could not move, too stunned by the betrayal. Four faceless women leaped over the crowd, their gray cloaks billowing behind them. They sailed over the fence with ease, landing among the handful of guards at the gate. Three of the four formed a perimeter, cutting and slashing with their daggers. Shadows bled from their bodies, giving them an unearthly, terrifying image. The fourth slashed the lock with both blades. Black sparks fell to the ground. The women leaped away.

Just like that the gates were open, and the furious crowd poured in like a wave. The house guards closed the gap as quickly as they could, their shields locking together and their swords stabbing, but they would soon be overrun. Zusa knew she must help them, but there was no way she could. The four faceless had rushed the mansion, leaping at various windows and smashing through. She thought of them running through the halls, searching, their daggers eager to take away the life of those she loved.

“Damn it all,” she swore as she leaped from the tree. Arms wide, she sailed across the yard, propelled forward with strength born of magic. Karak’s magic, which she would turn against his blind, foolish servants. Alyssa had closed the window, but Zusa crossed her arms at the last moment and crashed right on through. Glass cut her skin, tore at her wrappings, but she ignored the pain. Rolling to a stop on one knee, she looked to Alyssa, saw the growing fear in her eyes.

“It’s not lost,” Zusa said, rising. “Not yet.”

The door opened, but it was not a faceless, only Lord Gandrem in his polished armor. In his left hand he held a sharpened sword.

“Milady,” he said, tilting his head toward Melody Gemcroft. “Might I have the honor of standing at your side and protecting you with my life?”

“It’s only an honor if you keep her alive,” Zusa said. “By the window, now.”

“Window?”

“Do as she says,” Alyssa said. Zusa was glad to see that Nathaniel was back at her side. John glanced between them, still clearly confused, but he accepted the order of his hostess. He stood before the window Zusa had smashed, his weapon drawn, and overlooked the fight below.

Putting her back to them, Zusa closed the door to the room and leaned her side against it. Closing her eyes, she focused her senses, listened for the slightest sound that might reveal the presence of the faceless. She heard screams from all about the mansion, servants and guards fighting, fleeing, dying. Getting closer.

From the other side, she heard a soft exhalation of air.

Zusa somersaulted as the door was kicked open. She was curling in midair when the faceless woman rushed in, searching. Melody screamed. Nathaniel cried out. Before the woman could attack, Zusa landed between her and Alyssa.

“Stay back!” she screamed at John, who had turned to help. “Stay at the window!”

The faceless lowered her body, tensed for a lunge. Zusa recognized those hazel eyes, that small wiry frame.

There’s Ezra, thought Zusa. Where are the others?

Ezra leaped at Melody, but it was a feint, and she curled back in. Zusa met her charge, having fully expected it. She knew Ezra’s hatred of her, knew that she would attack no one else while in her presence. Their daggers collided, engaged in a dance Zusa knew she would win as she had before. But if the previous defeat weighed on Ezra’s mind, it didn’t show, for she pressed her attack with an unexpected ferocity. Zusa parried twice, tried to knee her foe, but Ezra shifted aside. Zusa continued on, rolling until she hit the wall, then used it to kick off. They met again, their bodies contorted and twisted in ways only they, unarmored and limber, could accomplish. Steel rang against steel. They collided, elbowing, striking, each twisting to absorb the hits of the other as their daggers continued to dance, seeking an opening.

Zusa found it first. Her dagger slashed across Ezra’s thigh. As the injured woman tried to retreat, Zusa somersaulted, foot catching the underside of her chin. Ezra’s head snapped back and she fell, rolling on instinct to avoid any follow-up attacks. When she came to her feet, blood spread across the wrappings of her face. She hesitated, and her eyes flicked once to the window. That was all Zusa needed.

She was halfway there when another faceless came leaping feet first through the shattered window. Lord Gandrem was unprepared for the attack, which caught him full in the chest. He stumbled back, but to his credit he kept swinging, his long blade forcing the new attacker to keep her distance. Zusa didn’t slow her approach in the slightest, and when close enough she leaped, slamming into the other woman with her shoulder. Together they tumbled out the window, falling.

Still holding the other tight, Zusa closed her eyes. They were falling at night, toward a ground littered with a hundred shadows cast by the few torches of the mob. She’d done this before, but never at such a great distance, never with another…

Demanding the power, whether from Karak or herself, she focused on a corner of the room she’d just leaped from, where the shadows were deepest. Shadows were but doorways to her if she was strong enough, and instead of hitting the ground, she and her opponent fell right through. They reappeared in the room, falling from the corner. Zusa twisted so she landed on top, her daggers piercing the faceless woman through the breast and throat. Abandoning the blades so she could continue moving without slowing, she swept the feet out from Ezra, who had turned on John following her departure.

John, surprised as he looked, was still no fool. His sword stabbed down, but Ezra was too fast, spinning on her back. The stab missed, and with impressive strength, she pushed off in a backward somersault. Zusa kneed and kicked her, felt bones break, but still the woman made it past, crumpling at the door to the room.

And at that door appeared two more faceless, shadows rolling off them like water.

Zusa looked to her daggers, still embedded in the corpse.

“You will not win tonight,” she said, shifting so she stood beside John, the two of them protecting Alyssa and her family.

“Karak has decreed you an enemy of the faith,” Ezra said, standing with the help of the other two. Her hazel eyes glared with a feverish intensity. “Your fate is already sealed. Without your faith you are nothing.”

“Strange for a god of order to ally with thieves and rioters,” Alyssa said. “What have I done to earn your ire?”

They received no answer. The three faceless fanned out, forcing the group tighter against the window. Zusa reached out a hand to John, her eyes never leaving her foes. Ezra was the smallest, the other two taller, and with longer reach. One in particular looked almost gangly due to her height, and the way the wrappings pulled tight about her body. The third looked strong, her body heavier than the others’. So far none showed any impatience, instead slowly advancing, watching for any tricks or the first sign of an attack.

“Cut my palm,” Zusa told John, who did so despite clearly not understanding why. As the blood poured across her hand, Zusa clutched her cloak. Her body ached from the blows she and Ezra had exchanged, but despite it she grinned.

“You think I am nothing?” she asked as her gray cloak turned the color of blood, the redness spreading like dye in a glass of water. “You think I must beg Karak for strength? Come, faceless. Come, slaves. I will show you what power I have.”

In unison the three attacked, and Zusa met them head on. Clutching an edge of her cloak, she twisted and spun, weaving through their thrusts and slashes so that none could cut her deeply. Her cloak itself billowed and curled as if it were a sentient thing. Its edges hardened like steel whenever touched by the women’s daggers. Zusa kicked to her left, spun low, then slammed both fists against Ezra’s chest. The others tried to trap her, but she vaulted high, landing by the corpse of the one she’d killed. Yanking free her daggers, she leaped fully into the offensive. Her cloak was just another weapon, and it cut into their skin like razor wire. The faceless retreated, parried and dodged. Their blood covered the floor.

They all forgot John Gandrem, all but Zusa, who forced the heavyset faceless into a retreat his way. His sword pierced her back, punched out the other side. The woman convulsed on the blade, then dropped to the ground. The other two froze, and as if to mock them, Zusa knelt and tore the wrappings from the dead woman’s face, revealing her round cheeks, her dimpled face draining of color, her green eyes locked open in death.

“Look at her!” Zusa screamed. “Look at her! Tell me why such a face must be hidden! Tell me why such a beauty must die! Is Karak so petty as to hate us all? Do you think the priests tell you his true word? You are fools, you are chained, now leave my family alone!”

Ezra and the tall faceless glared at her, and she wondered if they would attack. She wanted them emotional, wanted them to rush into battle unprepared against her so she could finish them forever. But instead they ran, and she could not tell if it was cowardice or wisdom that made them do so.

Zusa let them go, for she felt her strength ebbing and a headache growing deep in her forehead. With their absence, Zusa’s cloak returned to its dull gray color, and she limped over to Alyssa. A dozen shallow cuts bled across her body.

“You’re safe,” Zusa said, and she smiled. Alyssa caught her when she leaned forward, and Zusa accepted the embrace.

The sound of combat continued unabated despite the emptiness of the room. Looking out the window, Zusa saw the house guards completely overwhelmed, only a small force holding fast at the crowded entryway before the mansion door. The rest were dead or had retreated all the way into the building. Windows were smashed in from all directions, and nothing could be done to stop the rioters from pouring in, looters rushing out with treasures in hand.

“The castle guard will arrive soon,” John said, wiping blood from his sword. “Surely they will not allow…”

“The city is like it is because the city guard has allowed it,” Melody said, stepping away so she too could watch from the window. “We will find no salvation from them.”

Zusa pulled free of Alyssa’s embrace, kissed her forehead. “Shut and bar the door,” she said to John. Without waiting for a response, she leaped once more from the window. The many below were just unarmed men, angry, confused, whipped into a fury by the thief guilds. Despite this, she had no pity for them as she descended, a whirling tornado of blades. They trespassed upon land not theirs, seeking to take what had never belonged to them and snuff out the life of those she loved. Let them die. Let them bleed out upon the grass. And that is what they did, those who did not scatter in time. Life after life she ended, losing herself in the flow of combat.

They fled from her, unable to overwhelm her with numbers and unable to defeat her with their simple weaponry. Zusa cut a bloody swath toward the guards at the door, who, despite their many wounds, held firm.

“Go inside!” she screamed at them. “Protect those within. I will hold the door!”

None looked happy with the command, but they knew her closeness to Alyssa, and the danger her daggers possessed. When they retreated inside, only Zusa remained in the yard. Turning about, she stared down the rioters. Many had begun to flee, overwhelmed by the carnage strewn about the place. The house guards had done their work well. Men and women still rushed the mansion, but most avoided her, choosing to crawl through the glass of broken windows rather than challenge her blades. Zusa shook her head, almost disappointed, but at least the mansion would be safe. The remaining house guards could handle a few looters and…

“This city is in the throes of a new birth!” boomed a deep voice outside the complex. Zusa looked, saw a large man dressed in clothes outside the norms of Veldaren, a triangular hat on his head. His left ear glittered with many rings running up and down the cartilage. “That there is blood and pain should not only be expected, but welcome! Our slavery ends tonight. The Watcher is dead, and the disgusting truce of this land breaks. Destroy those who once pretended to be your lords.”

As he spoke, men of all guilds gathered around him, having hidden in alleys and homes to watch the carnage while the hungry, frustrated, and destitute did their work for them. They were at least two hundred, perhaps more, and they brandished crossbows and daggers laced with poison. Zusa stood before them, her whole body trembling with every tired breath. Whoever the strange man was, Zusa marked him, let his face burn into her memory.

“Those who pass through those gates will die,” Zusa cried back, pointing a dagger. Her voice seemed minuscule compared to that of the giant who led them. “Come, then, if you are so eager to enter the Abyss.”

With so many against her, and the city guard nowhere in sight, they were not afraid. They rushed in, all but their leader, who remained back to watch. Zusa flung open the door and pressed her back against it, using it as a shield as the crossbow bolts came flying. They thudded like a heavy rain. Zusa closed her eyes, felt tears in them. Damn it, not like this. What they’d do to Alyssa, to Nathaniel…

When the footsteps were almost near, she kicked the door back open and charged, willing to bleed, to die, to keep them safe for just a minute more. But to her surprise, she was not alone. Landing before the door, his body shrouded in gray cloaks, was a man who should not have been able to leave his bed, let alone tear into the forces assembled against them.

“Haern?” Zusa asked in the brief pause before she rushed to join him. They were terribly outnumbered, but they moved through the ranks with blinding speed, taking advantage of the sudden doubt and terror the Watcher’s presence inspired. He should have been dead. This was their night to celebrate his execution. To have him appear, sabers hungry, suddenly put every plan of theirs in doubt.

After about thirty died, their progress slowed. Shock turned to fury and desperation, and now it was Zusa’s turn to retreat, weaving from side to side to avoid the occasional crossbow bolt. Instead of putting their backs to the door, she and the Watcher fled inside. Together they slammed it shut, needing the brief reprieve to catch their breath. Zusa looked to the Watcher, still unable to believe it. He looked similar, had a similar build and height, but something was wrong. Much of his face was hidden in the shadows of his hood, and even his grin had that same amused yet tired edge to it. His hands, she realized. They were older, more callused and scarred.

“Who are you?” she asked. “You can’t be him.”

“I am who I need to be,” said the imposter. He kept his voice low, but it was rougher than Haern’s whisper. “Or would you prefer to fight them alone?”

The barred door halted them only a moment. The remaining house guards had retreated farther into the house, most likely to the upper floors where they could narrow down the conflict to a few choke points at the stairs. This left the windows unguarded, and the thieves leaped through them in a sudden wave. Zusa took one side, the Watcher the other. She parried a clumsy thrust, kicked her shin against the man’s groin, and then slashed out his throat as he doubled over. Two more neared, and she flung herself at them, her exhaustion increasing her recklessness. Both scored minor wounds, but she accepted them to cut both down, each of her daggers burying into a throat.

An explosion roared from the outside, and suddenly there were no more coming through the windows.

“What’s going on?” Zusa asked, turning. The Watcher stood at a window, grinning.

“Not everyone is so willing to play along with Grayson’s farce,” he said.

Not understanding, she opened the door to look out.

Lord Victor fought at the entrance to the mansion grounds, a squad of his men surrounding him. Amid his group she saw the yellow robes of the wizard Tarlak. Powerful magic flew from his fingertips, bolts of lightning and boulders of ice slamming across the corpse-covered yard. The various guilds turned on them, hoping to bury them quickly, but then the Ash Guild arrived as well. Somehow they’d gotten over the wall, and they methodically moved through the yard, wiping out those who neared. Dark fire leaped from Deathmask’s hands, and Veliana shredded terrified men with her daggers. Whirling about them were the twins, preventing anyone from flanking.

“Let’s rub salt in their wounds,” the Watcher said, rushing out. Zusa followed, and together they chased down thieves who knew not where to retreat, for they had enemies on all sides. Eventually they fled toward the gate, enduring Tarlak’s assault so they might push back against Victor’s men and dash for the safety of the dark streets.

The Watcher leaped to the wall and climbed up, balancing himself so he stood in the gaps between the spikes without harm. As the chaos died down, and men fled in all directions, the Watcher lorded over it all, let every eye look upon him. Zusa sheathed her daggers, the battle over. As the Ash Guild met up with Victor’s men, the Watcher leaped to the street and vanished. Deathmask gave a mock salute, and then he too made his exit.

Zusa waited, feeling so tired that standing seemed a burden, as Victor made his approach.

“We are safe,” she told him. “My thanks for your arrival.”

“I don’t know how you lived,” Victor said, glancing about. “Gods, it reeks of shit and blood. You’d think we fought a war.”

Hundreds of corpses, all throughout the yard and mansion. It would take months to clean it all, she knew, and to completely banish the odor.

“We did fight a war,” Zusa said, looking up to the window to see Alyssa peering down. “But we won.”

“If you say so,” Tarlak said, his attention still drawn outward. She knew what he had to be thinking.

“It seems the Watcher is not dead after all,” she said, baiting a response.

“Seems like it,” Tarlak said, but she heard the doubt in his voice, the confusion. It was no ploy of his. Whoever the imposter was, the Eschaton were not involved. What did that mean?

“I must go to my mistress,” Zusa said, bowing low.

“I should return to my patrols,” Victor said. “Though I think the bulk of the trouble has passed. Give Alyssa my regards.”

Tarlak tipped his hat, and then they trudged off with their soldiers, leaving Alyssa to deal with the mess. Zusa tried not to think about it. Entering through the door, she quickly scanned the mansion, looking upon the destruction. Paintings were slashed or stolen, furniture broken. Every shred of silver or gold, from the candles to the dinnerware, had been taken. The bodies of servants and guards lay in every room, side by side with thieves and looters.

At the foot of the stairs she found Alyssa, come to survey the damage.

“We’ll rebuild, replace it all,” Zusa offered. “Your loved ones survived. That is what matters.”

Alyssa slowly wrapped her arms about her, leaned her head against her breast, and cried.

“Ten years,” she whispered. “Gods help us, ten years.”

“Not this time,” Zusa said, stroking her hair. “Not this time.”

It was shallow comfort, a weak promise, but right then she had little else to offer.