A Dance of Chaos: Book 6 of Shadowdance (35 page)

“Another change in plans,” she said. “I want dozens of your men scouring the city looking for her. Spend coin, break bones, and cut off as many fingers as it takes to loosen people’s tongues. I want to know where she is, Sef, and I want to know now.”

“If it’s the Sun Guild, people don’t talk, not even…”

Alyssa bolted from her seat, and reaching out, she found the collar of his shirt and then yanked him closer.

“
Make
them talk,” she said, staring at him with her black eyes.

Sef cleared his throat.

“This may take time. What about Antonil’s request? What shall we do when the army arrives?”

“For his sake, pray we find Zusa before then.”

“As you wish,” he said. “But I have to ask … what makes you think she is not already dead?”

Alyssa let him go, and she lovingly brushed the lock of hair with her fingers.

“Because if she were, Muzien would not have sent me her hair,” Alyssa said. “He’d have sent me her head. Now go. You have a job to do.”

Sef bowed, then stomped away, already shouting orders before the door to the dining hall closed. Alyssa remained standing, her body shaking, her blood turning to fire in her veins. Teeth clenched, she was flooded with such shocking strength it felt like she awoke for the first time in ages.

“How dare you?” she whispered, remembering Muzien’s arrogance when he’d come to visit her in her bedroom. “You think you can take those close to me? You think you can escape my reach?”

She’d once threatened to burn the city to the ground in her quest for vengeance for her son. That same desire flooded her, and with each passing moment it grew. Striking a fist against the table beside her, she felt a plate break, a shard of it cutting into her hand. Grabbing the plate, she flung it at the wall, heard its satisfying shatter.

“I will not have my love wielded as a weapon against me,” she vowed with a soft whisper. “I will not let another piece of my life die as part of a game. This ends now, I swear it.”

Your turn
, echoed the words of Muzien’s note, spoken in Sef’s baritone voice. Despite her doubt and exhaustion she’d revealed to Zusa, despite all her broken words, the swallowing darkness and parade of betrayals, and despite the blood that dripped down her wrist to stain her dress, Alyssa found herself smiling.

Do you still have the heart to play?

As it turned out, the answer was a resounding
yes
.

   24   

A
ll things considered, Deathmask had seen stranger ways to request a meeting, but this was probably his favorite. The message was in a back alley of the Ash Guild’s sliver of remaining territory, written using the blood of a dead member of the Sun, whose body lay slumped directly beneath.

Tonight. Same cemetery.

It was signed with the Watcher’s eye. Deathmask chuckled, then shrugged his shoulders.

“Well now,” he muttered. “How could I refuse such a thoughtful invitation?”

After gathering the rest of his guild, Deathmask returned to the cemetery where Thren had detailed his plan to overthrow Muzien and his Sun Guild. Finding it empty, Deathmask leaned against the slender tree he’d hidden in, Veliana at his side.

“We’ll scout outside,” Nien said.

“Would hate to have an ambush,” Mier said.

Deathmask waved them off.

“You don’t think this would actually be a trap, do you?” Veliana asked as the two raced off in opposite directions.

“Course not, but it will give them something to do.”

“Why?” asked a voice from above them. “Do you think it will take me that long to arrive?”

Deathmask chuckled as the Watcher leaped down from the highest branches of the tree, landing softly before them with a flourish of his cloaks.

“Cute,” he said. “I guess I should have thought to check my own hiding place.”

The Watcher was usually an amusing one to banter with, but not tonight.

“I need to talk to you about tomorrow,” he said.

“There’s really not much to talk about,” Deathmask said. “Thren gives his signal, whatever that is, and then we go about slaughtering everyone dumb enough to keep the symbol of the Sun on their person. If you’re worried about us having second thoughts, I assure you…”

“That’s not it,” the Watcher said, cutting him off. “I don’t want you to aid us in overthrowing Muzien. There’s somewhere else I think you’ll be needed more.”

Deathmask glanced at Veliana, who lifted an eyebrow to show she was equally confused.

“All right,” he said. “And where might that be?”

“Along the walls. There’s an army of orcs approaching, and I think we’ll be better suited with you using your magic to defeat them.”

It took a bit more effort than it should have to hide his surprise.

“Well then,” he said. “That’s … unexpected. And how did an orc army arrive at our doorstep without anyone noticing?”

The Watcher shifted where he stood, something Deathmask caught as a sign of unease.

“We’ve known for a few days,” he said. “We’ve been trying to keep it to ourselves until people must be informed.”

“I’m glad you consider us so vital to have waited so long,” Veliana said, echoing Deathmask’s own sentiments.

“Few days or one, it still is ridiculous,” Deathmask said. “How did they get so near?”

“From what I was told, a necromancer is with them, guiding them and keeping them under control. He is the one I fear might give us trouble. Tarlak will do what he can, but with your help, I feel confident together you two cannot be defeated.”

Suddenly Deathmask’s pleasant night wasn’t so pleasant. Frowning, he tried to hold back the bite to his words.

“You know nothing of who this necromancer is or what he can do, but you’re confident we can handle him? I’m not sure your knowledge of arcane and divine magic is able to fill a thimble, let alone make such judgments.”

“I’m only trying to do my best,” the Watcher said. “I’d like the people of this city to survive this whole mess relatively unscathed. The least you could do is think of others for once.”

A bit of purple flame sparkled from Deathmask’s fingertips.

“You’ve delivered your message,” he said. “Now leave.”

The Watcher hesitated a moment, then bowed low. Without another word, he dashed toward the exit of the cemetery. Deathmask didn’t bother to watch him go, instead marching toward the western section where the newest graves were dug. Given the events of the past few months, there were more than enough to choose from.

“What are you doing?” Veliana asked him as she followed.

“Finding myself a body.”

Identifying a fresh grave was easy enough, and he crouched before it, fingers sinking into the loose soil. There was power in the bodies of the deceased, power he would use.

“What bothers you so?” Veliana asked as she stood beside him, arms crossed over her chest. “A few thousand orcs with no real way to breach the gates or climb the walls should be easy prey given the city’s defenses.”

“It’s not the orcs,” Deathmask said as he felt the veil of magic slipping over his eyes. “It’s the necromancer who’s with them. I must confirm it for myself.”

Veliana asked him something else, but her words came as if from a thousand miles away, stolen by a rushing wind that grew louder and louder as Deathmask’s mind sank into the darkness. He saw nothing, just swirls of gray and black, until they opened up like an eye he might peer through. Around him were trees, tall husks of gray, their color sapped away by the magic of his sight. Marching through those trees, weapons swinging casually from their hands, were orcs. Their skin, already gray, looked ashen in his sight. They sang some sort of marching song, the words warbled in his ears. Deathmask felt an innate sense of location, somewhere far north of the city.

Where are you?
Deathmask thought as he flew through the forest as if he were a mosquito, lifting, dropping, weaving through trees and brush and orcs. His direction was the lone source of color he saw, a rift of red and purple visible through the trees. Closer and closer, with a speed that even birds could not dream of achieving, he approached the necromancer. Deathmask could hardly believe it, but he was nervous, and caught himself almost wishing to end the spell before arriving. Such a realization about himself was insulting enough to keep him going, magical sight bursting through the very trunk of a tree to behold the leader of the orc horde.

He wore a simple robe, like that of a priest, its color a stunning black. Shimmering over that black, like ice over a tree branch in winter, was a swirling aura of color that pulsed among red, purple, and blue. The sight of it made Deathmask sick to his stomach. Looking to the face beneath the shrouded hood, he expected a man or woman. Instead he saw a rotted husk. Its skin was thin and peeled back, like a corpse left out for days in the sun. No lips covered its teeth, which, in a strange contrast to the decrepit state of the rest of its body, were a clean white. Just peeking out from the arms of the robe were skeletal fingers, and it seemed its fingertips were constantly aflame.

Most notable of all were the eyes. There were none, not such as any normal person might recognize. Instead they were swirling orbs of fire burning within the recesses of the skull, tightly compacted and releasing not a hint of smoke. Red veins of magic pulsed within them, encircling the fire, constantly giving it life.

And then those eyes met Deathmask’s. The skull tilted to one side, as if curious.

Begone
, it said, and when it opened its mouth, it had no tongue, just a dank black hole from which the deep, rumbling speech escaped. At those words Deathmask felt a horrific jabbing pain throughout his mind, and with a scream he fell back, hands pulling away from the earth to end his spell. For long agonizing moments, he lay there, staring up at the night sky as pain pulsed throughout his head as if he were in the grip of the worst migraine in the history of mankind. It took several minutes before color returned, and several minutes after that, he felt capable of speech.

“I’ll be fine,” he said, trying to ease the worries of the other three of his guild with him. Veliana took his arm, and he accepted her help so he might stand.

“What did you see?” she asked.

Deathmask shook his head.

“I saw who I thought I’d see,” he said. “Karak’s damn prophet. That little worm has been a pain in Dezrel’s side since its earliest days, and it looks like he’s not done stirring up trouble. No doubt he’s the reason the orcs were able to cross the Bone Ditch, and I have a feeling that orc army isn’t marching alone.”

“So we help?” asked Mier.

“It seems we should,” said Nien.

“We should,” Deathmask agreed, rubbing at his eyes in a vain attempt to dismiss the blobs floating before them. “But not at the gates like the Watcher’s hoping, nor against Muzien. Karak’s prophet is outside the walls, and while everyone’s worried about the orcs out there, we have an unchallenged enemy lurking in here.”

He took a step, failed miserably. Veliana caught him, and as she helped him back to a stand, he smiled her way.

“Would you be a darling and help me walk to Ashhur’s temple?” he asked. “There’s a few things I need to discuss with their high priest.”

Veliana tightened her grip on his arm.

“If you insist.”

By the time Deathmask walked up the marble steps, he’d mostly recovered from the mental blow the prophet had dealt him, which was good, because he had every intention of going inside alone.

“It will be awkward enough by myself,” he told the others before leaving them at the bottom of the steps. “You three will just make it worse.”

At the door he knocked twice, then waited to be let in. The door opened a crack, and Deathmask smiled down at the young lad peeking out.

“Yes?” the boy asked.

“I’m here to speak with High Priest Calan,” Deathmask said. “And when he asks why, tell him it’s about Karak’s most faithful lunatic. He’ll understand.”

“He might be asleep.”

Deathmask rolled his eyes.

“Then wake him.”

The door shut, and Deathmask spent the time with his eyes closed, trying to meditate the last of his nausea away. Leaving the body to witness visions from afar was always a risky venture, and to be struck down while doing so was incredibly unpleasant and disorienting. Part of Deathmask wondered if his cramped stomach had more to do with unease at how easily he’d been dismissed rather than the dismissal itself. The door opened, and he was glad for the distraction so he’d not have to dwell on that thought.