A Dance of Chaos: Book 6 of Shadowdance (24 page)

She let her voice trail off. The blood from the guard’s neck, and all over Alyssa’s clothes, would tell the rest of the story. Who would think a blind woman responsible for the murder? They might have guessed Zusa’s involvement, but she’d been seen by dozens fighting Muzien’s men in the battle outside, and her slip inside the shoemaker’s had lasted mere moments during the chaotic aftermath.

No—the blood, the bodies, it’d all tell a story they’d seen countless times before. They began searching the guard’s body, and she heard a rattle. One of them had found the coin purse Alyssa had given Zusa to plant on him.

“Fucking traitor,” the soldier said.

“We need to get her somewhere safe,” said another voice.

“Take me to my mansion,” Alyssa said, gently removing Victor’s arm from her leg so she could stand. “I need to be with my son. If there are traitors here, they may be elsewhere as well.”

“What do we do with … you know?”

Victor’s body, of course. Many of the men in that room had never pledged allegiance to her, only to Victor. They didn’t know how to respond, what sort of protocol to follow. As a gloved hand took hers, Alyssa straightened up, showing the resolve they all expected of her, fostered by her bloody years of ruling her household.

“Wrap him and bring him with us,” she said. “He was a Gemcroft, and he’ll be buried with every privilege that deserves.”

Her escort led her down the stairs as she heard men behind them discussing ways to carry the body. Despite Muzien’s failure, despite her inheriting control of all of Victor’s men, despite her telling herself again and again today had been a good day, her walk to her mansion felt like the long, suffocating procession of a funeral, one where the body inside the coffin was not Victor’s, but hers.

   15   

T
arlak was mostly himself again by the time they reached the tower, which meant Haern had to endure a lengthy tirade of curses the final few minutes of walking.

“I’ll turn him into a frog,” said the wizard. “No, a toad, a gods-damn wart-covered toad I can hang by its legs from a tree until the vultures come for an easy meal.”

“I’ll tell you what,” Haern said, Delysia still in his arms. “If I catch the son of a bitch, I’ll try to leave him alive so you can do just that.”

Tarlak cocked an eyebrow his way.

“I’m half-drugged, naked, and pissed off. Please tell me you aren’t mocking me.”

“I’d never dream of it.”

Once inside the tower, Haern collapsed beside the fire, which Tarlak reignited with a snap of his fingers. The other three climbed the stairs, to their rooms to dress and clean themselves. Finally given a moment of respite, Haern closed his eyes and tried to massage away his growing headache. He’d hardly had any rest, for when he’d come home from a long day of tormenting the Sun Guild and scrawling the symbol of the Watcher alongside Thren’s spider, he’d found the note left for him by Zusa telling him to come find answers at the Gemcroft mansion. When he’d scoured the tower, finding the rest of his friends gone, he’d immediately rushed over. Now that they were safe, he wanted nothing more than to lie down, close his eyes, and sleep. Sadly, it seemed it would be hours before he would have such a chance.

Tarlak was the first to come down, a drink already in his hand. Brug followed, the squat man taking a seat in a rocking chair while Tarlak plopped down onto their couch facing the fire. As he sank into the cushions, the wizard let out a groan of appreciation.

“Bastards kept us tied up all night,” he said. “Feel like every single muscle got pulled and twisted a totally wrong direction.”

“Least you were out of it because of whatever they made you drink,” Brug grumbled. “Me and Del, however…”

He trailed off, and Haern had to repress a shudder. The three had been dragged naked through the streets of Veldaren to their intended execution. Mocked. Humiliated. Whatever remnants of exhaustion Haern felt faded away under a fresh wave of fury.

When Delysia came down from her room a few minutes later, changed into a comfortable white robe, she assured them her wounds were not serious.

“Just bruises,” she said as she sat down next to her brother. “You revealed yourself before … before there was too much.”

Haern clenched his jaw tight, fighting away the horrible image of her screaming as the rocks were placed upon her one by one. It seemed that every passing moment, his need for vengeance grew.

“Did you get a look at how Victor’s men fared?” Tarlak asked, rubbing at his eyes as he had often over the past half hour.

“They were hit hard,” Haern said, thinking on what little he’d seen; his attention had been so heavily focused on Muzien. “When those tiles exploded, I think the bulk of his forces were either directly on them or just beyond.”

“Those tiles,” Tarlak said, and he shook his head. “That confirms it. They must be under the elf’s control. Even with far superior numbers, he had a solution ready. Given what happened today, we might need to consider the very real possibility he turns all of Veldaren into a giant smoking crater.”

“It’s always been a possibility,” Haern said, holding his head in his hands as he sat on the floor.

“Except we figured if the city was in Muzien’s hands, he had no reason to blow it up,” Tarlak argued. “Well, today’s ass-kicking may make him reconsider just how securely that crown sits upon his head.”

“Then what do we do about it?” Haern asked, exasperated. “We can’t move them. We can’t break the magic in them. If Muzien’s holding the key, he’s still out there, and most likely furious. What solution is there beyond evacuating the whole damn city? Maybe you haven’t noticed, but this tower isn’t big enough to hold hundreds of thousands of people.”

“No, but we can handle one more,” Tarlak said, voice rising. “Bring the king here if that’s what it takes to convince him he’ll be safe. Even given how cowardly that little shit is, he’d be insane to ignore something this ridiculous. For Ashhur’s sake, we’re fighting a war within a stone’s throw of his throne. He has to act. I don’t care if every soldier in the entire realm of Neldar must be housed in these walls, it’s time to bring Muzien down for good!”

“If armies arrive, Muzien may declare this all a lost cause,” Delysia said, shrinking into the cushions. “He doesn’t seem the sort to leave without one last grand act, and we all know what it’d be.”

Her soft statement quieted them all. Letting out a sigh, Haern said good-bye to any chance for rest within the next few hours.

“I’m tired of letting our fears guide our actions,” he said, rising to his feet. “Despite the risks, we have to start countering Muzien with everything we have. If there’s anything we’ve learned today, it’s that our only hope of peace comes with his death.”

“Where are you going?” Tarlak asked as Haern headed for the door.

“The castle,” Haern said, pulling his hood over his head. “The king cannot turn a blind eye to this chaos any longer, and no matter what it takes, I will convince him of that.”

“Are you sure it’s safe to go out there alone?” Brug asked, tilting back his chair so he could look over his shoulder at him.

“Safe?” Haern asked, pushing open the door to their tower. “No one’s safe, not anymore, and that’s why this must be done.”

Many times Haern had sneaked into the castle, and as on many occasions before, his message for Edwin would not be delivered to the king directly. No, there was another who was far easier to reason with, the one who truly controlled the city, tugging at whatever strings he must to make the frightened, immature puppet that was their king dance the proper dance. To his room Haern went, scaling the walls of the castle and crawling in through an open window, using extra care given the daylight.

Haern had expected guards to be posted at the door of Gerand Crold’s room deep in the heart of the castle, but he’d expected wrong. Pushing it open, he was once again surprised to find Gerand actually within, instead of hiding elsewhere or rushing about the city trying to make sense of the craziness.

“Do you have a death wish?” Haern asked the middle-aged man, who sat in a chair facing the door, a bottle of wine in his left hand, a glass in his right.

“I’ve come to certain conclusions over the past decade,” Gerand said, taking a sip. “If people like you, or Thren, or that Muzien fellow wish to have me dead … well, then I’m dead. After today, I thought I’d be getting a visit from one of you three. Must admit, I’m happy you’re the one to show.”

Haern shut the door behind him, then leaned his back against it. Arms crossed, hood low over his face, he stared at the king’s adviser, trying to get a read on him. The man seemed broken somehow, a far cry from the confident bastard Haern was used to dealing with.

“Why aren’t you at the king’s side?” he asked.

“Veldaren’s glorious king?” Gerand asked, pouring more wine into his glass, then lifting it in a toast. “You mean that cowardly, spoiled, infantile snot of a boy, whom Ashhur has ordained through the luck of being from the right set of testicles to be our lord and master? Fuck him.”

He downed half the glass, then set it aside.

“He’s hiding in his room,” he continued. “Possibly crying into a pillow, or maybe ranting and raving at whatever guard is stuck listening to him. He’s convinced he’ll be blamed for what happened at the city center, which means his paranoia’s about to go through the castle roof. Gods damn it, what I’d give for a good insurrection, so long as my head didn’t join Edwin’s on the chopping block.”

Under normal circumstances Haern would have been amused, but his exhaustion and anger kept the smile from his face.

“We don’t have time for this,” he said. “That display earlier should make it clear Muzien cannot be ignored. You’ve relied for too long on people like us to do your dirty work. It’s time for the city’s soldiers to attack the Sun Guild. Order the four-pointed star banished, and have your men sweep the city.”

Gerand laughed, first softly, then louder and louder, his shoulders rocking violently by the end.

“Ah, Watcher,” he said, rubbing a tear from his eye. “What city have you been living in the past few years? There’s a greater chance of pigs falling from the sky on a clear day than what you’re requesting.”

“I’m not requesting,” Haern said, letting an edge enter his voice.

“Spare me. You think your threats matter? The king is terrified for his life, and unlike the lions who have ruled before, he’s more of a turtle. He’s going to pull into his castle here, close his eyes, and pray that everything just goes away.”

Haern pulled back his cloak to show a hand resting on the hilt of his saber.

“Put down that glass,” he said. “You’re drunk enough, and I need you to listen. Either the king comes out of his shell, or he dies. Have I made myself clear?”

“As clear as this glass,” Gerand said, lifting it up to him in another toast. “But the moment he moves against Muzien, as you demand, Muzien will execute him. So you’re threatening to kill the king if he doesn’t go and voluntarily get himself killed. See the conundrum? And honestly, when it comes to which one he’d rather be killed by, well, Muzien pulls a more intimidating presence than you. No offense, of course, but you don’t seem the type to enjoy torturing a man. That elven bastard? Trust me, the king’s heard the story of his Red Wine. You’re not winning this competition.”

Haern lunged forward, grabbing the man by the front of his shirt and yanking him to his feet. Struggling to control his anger, he flung Gerand against a wall, knocking over the bottle of wine in the process. The red liquid poured across their feet as Haern leaned in close, pinning the man.

“Have my years here meant nothing?” he asked him, seething. “How many bodies have I left in my wake? How many challengers and upstarts have I beaten down with my sabers? Muzien was the one who fled our ambush, not the other way around. Our boot is on his neck. We’ll break the Sun Guild if we keep up the pressure. You say the king fears him more? Then I will go to him myself, and let him see the fury in my eyes.”

He shoved Gerand once more, then turned to leave.

“Wait,” the adviser said, grabbing Haern by the arm. The act, while brave, was also stupid, and Haern whirled about on instinct, breaking his grip and ramming him back against the wall. Gerand let out a groan from the pain of the contact, but he did not relent.