Blood of the Underworld

10

Zusa waited atop the eastern wall of the city, hidden in the recesses of a watchtower. Whenever a guard lazily wandered by, she clung to the stone ceiling and let him pass underneath without a clue to her presence. Then she dropped down, returned to the edge, and waited. It had been many years, but she knew she would recognize Daverik the moment he arrived. What she’d say to him-that she was far less certain of. Perhaps she’d just kill him. She wanted to. Almost needed to.

The night wore on, but she forced herself to be patient. She had given Daverik no specific location, for she didn’t want his Faceless to set up an ambush. If they tried following, she would spot their movement. No matter how good they might be at slinking through shadows, they were young, and Zusa was better.

“Are you a coward now?” Zusa wondered aloud as the night wore on. Daverik had been many things, but at least he had never been one to give in to fear. But it’d been over a decade since they’d lain in each other’s arms. Perhaps she was naive to think he had changed so little.

A distant thunder turned her eyes west. She saw hints of a fire, and a lot of smoke. Curiosity tugged at her to go, but she refused. No matter what, she would not have Daverik wander by unnoticed, left to return to the temple thinking that she had been the one who was a coward. Wherever the fire was, she could tell it was nowhere near Alyssa’s mansion, and that was enough to keep her there.

When he finally did show, she nearly missed him. Instead of priestly garb, he wore plain clothes, dull brown pants and a gray shirt. He carried no torch, the moonlight sufficient for him. When once his hair had fallen past his shoulders, now it was gone completely, his head smoothly shaved. Time had wore on his features, hardened them, but when she cast a second glance at him while he passed beneath her, she saw the cheeks she’d kissed, the large lips that had kissed her in return.

A test, she realized. Nothing about him revealed himself as a priest. Only someone familiar with him would know him for who and what he was. That she had passed…should she be pleased, or disappointed?

“Daverik,” she called out. As he turned, she slid down the wall, silently landing in a crouch. Scanning the rooftops, she saw no sign of the other Faceless. Good. Her attention turned to her former lover, who smiled at her and opened his arms.

“Katherine,” he said, and the sound of his voice was the key to a vault of a hundred memories. “My god, Katherine, is it really you?”

She stood to her full height, pulling her shoulders back and turning her head to the side. Though the wrappings were originally meant to hide her beauty, they also revealed every curve of her body. Let him see the woman she had become. Let him know what the priesthood had denied him for ten long years.

“Not Katherine,” she said. “They took that name from me when they covered my face, lashing it out of my soul with their whips and barbs. I am Zusa now.”

A soft smile spread across his pale face. The moonlight added a blue tint to his green eyes. That she noticed at all annoyed her.

“In all my memories, you will always be Katherine,” he said. “But if I must, I will call you Zusa.” He laughed, then shook his head in disbelief. “I had heard one of the Faceless had revolted, and turned away from the order. I had hoped it might be you. You were never one for rules or limitations.”

“Neither were you, or did the priesthood taint you, convince you that every time we fucked it was my fault?”

That smile of his faded. He took a step toward her, and she recoiled away.

“They tried,” he said softly. “They said you seduced me, that your beauty was unveiled sin. At times, I almost agreed. You are beautiful, Zusa, perhaps without equal. But what we did…what we had…I would never diminish it in such a way.”

Such charming, honest words. Daverik had always known what to say to her, and she felt her old wounds bleeding anew. They’d been in each other’s arms when the priests had discovered them. They’d needed no trial, no council, to confirm the obvious. While she watched, they’d lashed Daverik before the altar, let his blood bleed across the ancient stone. As for her, the order of the Faceless awaited. They’d stripped her naked, and while Daverik watched, bound only her mouth and eyes with the wrappings that would become her ceremonial dress.

And when they carried her away, he’d said only two words, whose meaning she had always feared, and never fully understood.

Forgive me.

“Why are you here?” she asked, forcing a cold edge into her voice. Daverik was just a phantom from her past, a boyhood love. They’d both been so young, so foolish and naive. “I thought you’d been banished to Mordeina.”

“I was,” Daverik said, glancing about. When he saw that they were still alone, he walked over to the wall and leaned his back against it, crossing his arms. “But it was only for ten years, and now my time has come to an end. They gave me one last task as penance, a way to redeem my insult to our god.”

“Your god,” Zusa corrected. “I have no love for Karak.”

This clearly pained Daverik, but he continued without remarking on it.

“The betrayal of the Faceless Women has weighed on the priests in Mordeina. Though Pelorak initially refused, he finally accepted my return here, along with the reopening of the order. I am their teacher, their master.”

“Why you?”

“Because they felt I would best understand their weaknesses, having fallen for them myself.”

Zusa shook her head, and to show her opinion on the matter, she spat at his feet. His explanation sounded hollow, the reasoning unlike what she knew of the priesthood. He’d be forever branded as a man weak enough to give in to his passions. Why would they put women also believed to be weak and willing into his care?

“The order should have remained dead and gone,” she said. “How many women have you enslaved?”

“It is not enslavement…”

“I asked how many.”

Daverik sighed.

“Four. I doubt any are as skilled as you, but they’re learning. Karak has blessed them greatly, and I think they might even surprise you with the gifts they possess.”

Zusa smirked.

“I’m sure I have a few surprises for them, as well. Keep them far away from me, Daverik. The very sight of them sets my blood to boil. If you’re wise, you’ll leave Veldaren immediately.”

She turned to leave, but he reached out and grabbed her arm. Her free hand moved for her dagger, but their eyes met, and she saw the incredible force of will there. For a moment she remained still, lost in time, remembering a seventeen-year-old girl hiding in a dark alley with a pretty boy willing to touch her, kiss her, in ways the priesthood had forbidden.

“They say you work for Alyssa Gemcroft now,” he said. “Is that true?”

“It is,” she said, pulling her arm free. She wanted to hurt him, to shock him, and she didn’t know why. “I am her sister, her protector, and at times, her lover. Why do you ask?”

Daverik swallowed, and she could tell he was struggling to choose his words.

“These are dangerous times,” he said. “I don’t want to see you hurt. There’s much beyond my understanding, but I know Lady Gemcroft is not safe from the coming storm. Stay away from her, and all her family.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Only a warning,” he said. “I wish I could do more.”

She took three steps and leapt high above his head, to the rooftop of a nearby home. She landed without a sound, then spun to face him.

“You’re a smooth liar,” she said. “But I am no fool. Why did they really bring you to Veldaren?”

Daverik sighed and ran a hand across his bald head.

“I was to find you, bring you back into the fold now that the order was no longer disbanded.”

Alyssa felt her neck flush with anger.

“And if I refused?”

He met her gaze, let her see the pain in his eyes.

“I was to kill you.”

The words were a dagger, but they did not surprise her, did not even make her flinch.

“Will you, Daverik? Will you try to kill me?”

“My love, or my god. Do not make me choose, Katherine. I chose you a long time ago. I’m not sure I have the strength to do so again.”

She let the shadows swirl around her, drawing them to her as if they were liquid and she the bottom of a drain.

“Did you not hear me before?” she asked. “Katherine’s dead. My name is Zusa. Send your little girls after me if you must. I’ll kill them all. But don’t you dare bring Alyssa into this, or try to harm a single hair on her head. If you do, not even the walls of the temple will keep you safe from me.”

She ran, just a swathe of shadow in the night. Far behind, she heard him call her name, this time the right one.

“Zusa!”

She ran harder, faster. Whatever she’d expected, she felt a fool for doing so. They were no longer children. No longer lovers. He had no right to set her heart racing by his mere touch on her arm. Trying to think of something, anything else, she still failed. His words echoed in her head.

Coming storm, she wondered. What did he mean by that? What did he know that she did not? The idea that Karak’s priesthood wanted the Gemcroft family destroyed was a frightening one, but with all else that had happened, she could not dismiss the possibility. She felt trapped in a web, just one of many in the strands. But who was the spider spinning in the center of it all?

She didn’t know, but she must find out. Alyssa’s life was in danger. The city passed by her, a silent blur, and it was only when she reached the Gemcroft mansion that she realized she was being followed. Turning, she drew her daggers, but by then they were already gone, the four Faceless Women vanishing into the night like the ghosts they were.

“Don’t you dare,” Zusa whispered, standing at the closed gate as she issued her threat, not just to the Faceless but to the entire city spread out before her. “You won’t take her away from me. None of you will.”

In the distance she heard the roar of another explosion, and as it rumbled, she felt as if it were the city’s heartless, mocking laughter.

When they pulled the black cloth from his face, Victor found himself in what appeared to be a small cellar, the walls made of uneven rock and lit by two torches in either corner. He saw no windows, and no doors. His arms were bound behind him, and his ankles were held firm to the legs of the chair he sat in. Before him, looking far too amused to be harmless, was Deathmask and his Ash Guild.

“How have you enjoyed tonight’s entertainment?” Deathmask asked, sitting across from him in the only other furniture Victor could see, a similarly old and worn chair. “I’m not sure about you, but killing Spiders always gives me a smile.”

Beside him, a woman crossed her arms and leaned against his side. From what he’d learned, her name was Veliana, his second in command.

“I’m not sure he’s worth it,” she said. Victor peered up at her. He decided there was more compassion and mercy in her bloodied eye than the healthy one.

“Perhaps not,” Victor said, trying to remain calm. “Course, it’d help if I knew what value my life was being weighed against.”

“Coin,” said one of the two twins lurking against the wall, their pale skin making them seem like ghosts in the dim light.

“Lots of coin,” said the other.

“Right,” Victor said, turning his attention to Deathmask, the clear leader of them all. If anyone was to decide his fate, it was him. “But as ransom, or bounty? Or did you lie, and there actually is something my soldiers will soon dig up on your little guild?”

Deathmask scooted his chair closer, and his grin spread.

“You think you’re sharp,” he said. “You think your charm will keep you safe from what your soldiers cannot. But you’ve come to a city that eats men like you for supper. We spit your bones out in the gutters. At most, you’re just gristle to get stuck in our teeth. You aren’t a white knight come to save us all, and the sooner you accept that, the sooner you and I might start to get along.”

“You’ve never faced a man like me before.”

Deathmask shook his head and wagged a finger at him.

“You see, that’s the thing…we have. I daresay you remind me most of Thren Felhorn. Oh, don’t give me that look; it’s true. Same cockiness, same certainty that you’ll live forever without meeting someone better. You know, it might even be true. But the problem is you keep acting like you’re special. You keep thinking that there’s something unique about you.”

He slid even closer and raised a palm to the ceiling. Purple fire burst into existence in its center, and it swirled in an unfelt wind, burned on fuel that was not there.

“If I shoved this fire into your lungs,” said Deathmask, “you’d scream like anyone else, you’d die like anyone else, and then your corpse would shit itself, just like every other man and woman who has lived and died on this joke of a world. When the worms are eating our bodies, there’ll be no difference between you and I, not a one.”

Victor took a deep breath, and was glad that the tight ropes holding him to the chair kept him from shaking.

“I’m not afraid of you,” he said. “Tell me what it is you want, or let me go.”

Deathmask chuckled, and he clenched his fist, banishing the fire.

“What do I want? I want you safe and alive, that’s what I want. And for you to do that, you need to start listening. If we work together, we’ll both meet our goals, and you might even live long enough to see the end.”

Victor tried to hide his revulsion and failed. He thought of his words to the Watcher and shook his head.

“I will not have you drag me down,” he said. “No deals, no bribes, no sacrificing a shred of my intent. You can’t defeat me, so you hope to make me like you.”

“Can’t defeat you?” Veliana asked. She grabbed his face in her hands and gave him an earful of her mocking laughter. “Can’t defeat you? Look around, Victor. Instead of removing that mask over your head, we could have buried a dagger in your throat and been done with all this. How about instead of spouting blind nonsense, you start listening to the words you’re saying?”

She let go, pushing his head back hard enough to hurt the muscles in his neck. He felt his face flush, and he caught the twins snickering in the background. Pride wounded, he looked to the floor, forced himself to think. They were right, of course. His life was fully in their hands. But that didn’t mean he had to surrender. It didn’t mean he had to break.

“I will not die a hypocrite,” he said softly. “I’ve come to Veldaren to cleanse it of your kind. I will not work with you to do it. It is a poor executioner who relies on the condemned to swing their own axe.”

“Are you so sure?” Deathmask asked. “We now have a common enemy. Thren will never forgive me for what I’ve done, and you, well, you’re dead no matter what. The only reason you lived through his first attack was with my help. Should you remain stubborn, we may not be so generous the next time.”

Victor knew he was sealing his fate with his next answer, but he forced away the guilt, the frustration from failing so thoroughly in his goal. Deathmask wanted something, most likely to use him as his own private army against the other thief guilds, but he would not allow it. He would not be so cowardly as to sacrifice everything he believed just to spare his own life. Meeting Deathmask’s eye, he opened his mouth to answer, and that’s when the wall to his left exploded. Rock and dust filled the cellar. The four members of the Ash Guild fell back to the far wall, drawing daggers and readying magic.

“I must say, Death, I’m rather disappointed in you,” said Tarlak as he walked through the rubble and into the cellar. “Not a single protection spell against scrying?”

“I cast one on Victor the moment I took him,” Deathmask said as purple fire danced about his fingers.

“Not on Victor,” Tarlak said, grinning. “On you. But the night’s late, and such a mistake can be forgiven for how tired I’m sure you are. I’ll take your guest off your hands so you can rest. He’s such a troublemaker, isn’t he?”

More arrived through the hole in the wall, some Victor recognized, some he didn’t. The Watcher was the first, his sabers drawn, his face hidden in shadow. With him was a priestess of Ashhur, the wizard’s sister, Delysia. He’d met her briefly, when he first came to ask Tarlak to cast wards about his home. Last was a short, stocky man with a beard, clunking down behind the others in a full suit of platemail. The four faced off with the Ash Guild, who almost looked eager for a fight-all but Deathmask, who just looked amused.

“Such a dramatic display,” he said. “But truly unnecessary. Did I not tell your pet assassin he would be safe with me?”

The Watcher slipped closer, and with a few quick swings of his sabers, cut Victor free from the chair. His back stung when he stood, but Victor was thrilled to be able to move. Glancing to the Ash Guild, he dipped his head low.

“Thank you for the hospitality,” he said.

“Any time,” Deathmask said, still looking more amused than upset that the Eschaton had come to save him.

“Come see us again,” said the twins in unison.

Victor stepped through the hole in the wall and an opened chunk of dirt to the surface. The priestess took his arm, asked him if he was injured. Shaking his head, Victor glanced back, saw the Watcher remaining behind. The assassin said something to Deathmask, then left to follow.

“Take me to my men,” Victor said to Tarlak as he led them beyond the plain looking home and out to the street. “I must let them know I am safe and well.”

“We’ll do that for you,” Tarlak said. “But for now, you’re coming with us. Your home isn’t safe.”

“I know. Your spell left a gaping hole in the wall.”

Tarlak glanced back at the cellar.

“Indeed. Seems to be my specialty tonight.”

“Damn fools,” said the shorter fellow in armor. “What were they trying to do?”

“They were saving my life,” Victor said, remembering his flight down the street, thieves in chase.

“Doubt that,” the man snorted.

“Quiet, Brug,” Tarlak said. He stopped them all there in the middle of the street. Victor didn’t know why, but the wizard was twirling his hands about in odd motions.

“Deathmask doesn’t have an altruistic bone in his body,” the Watcher said, joining them. “If he’s interested in you, enough to keep you alive, it’s probably far worse than if he’d never noticed you at all.”

“Thanks for the comforting words,” Victor muttered. “My home was attacked, at least fifteen of my men are dead, and a madman has plans for me he’s unwilling to share.”

“Don’t forget Thren Felhorn wants you dead,” Brug said. “That should be up there, too.”

Victor glared at Brug, who seemed not to care.

“Done,” Tarlak said, and with the word, the street split before him like a torn painting. Victor stepped back, stunned. The tear grew, swirling with an unnatural light, until it was the size of a man. Without hesitation Tarlak stepped through, vanishing instead of appearing on the other side. His sister followed, then Brug. Before Victor could step through, the Watcher grabbed his wrist and held him still.

“We put our lives at risk helping you,” he said. “Do you understand that?”

Victor nodded.

“I do.”

“Good. Never forget it.”

He shoved Victor into the portal. His vision flooded with stars, gravity twirled and reversed, and then he was landing on cold, hard earth. His stomach heaved, and he vomited uncontrollably. As he gasped for air, he looked up to see a large tower built where rolling green hills met an expansive forest. Tarlak stood before him, hand outstretched, grin on his face.

“Welcome back to the Eschaton Tower,” the wizard said. “Now that I’ve saved your life at least twice by my count, I think it’s time we re-discuss my fee…”