A Dance of Chaos: Book 6 of Shadowdance (42 page)

“Running out of time!” Haern yelled to Thren as he blocked a swing, juked one way, then pulled his other saber free. His opponent tried to press the attack, but Haern was already on the move, just a ghost in the room the other could not hope to follow. Dashing one way, then another, he caught him off guard with a kick to the groin, then a second kick to the chest. The man stumbled back, hitting yet another trying to climb through the window. Haern left them entangled and ran to Thren’s side.

There were four on the stairs, two of whom had managed to make it to the very top step and even height with Thren. It was taking all of Thren’s skill to keep them at bay, parrying and thrusting with his short swords, their battle illuminated by a single torch carried by a man at the bottom of the stairs. When Haern joined, however, it went from a close battle to a slaughter. His father taking the left, Haern the right, they cut the two down, then sent the bodies tumbling into the others.

“Follow me,” Haern said, dashing to the left window. The entangled pair had just managed to make it inside, and Haern crashed into them like a whirlwind. The first fell, a gaping hole in his throat, while the other managed to barely avoid death by leaping to his left … and right into Thren’s charge. His father brought him down with ease, and with the window free, Haern put a foot on the ledge, stepped out, and spun to grab the rooftop. Pulling himself up, he rolled onto his back and gasped in air. His heart pounded in his chest, yet they weren’t close to finished.

Thren joined him a moment later, dropping to both knees as he also fought for breath.

“They won’t follow through the windows,” he said. “Too easy to defend. They’ll come from the other rooftops.”

“Makes sense,” Haern said. “Question is, how many?”

“Does it matter?” Thren asked. “We’ll have our answer soon enough.”

Haern sat up, then hopped to his feet. Twirling his sabers, he pointed east.

“This side’s mine,” he said. “You take the west. Fall back to the middle if you cannot hold.”

True to Thren’s assumption, the remaining members of the Sun Guild scaled the two adjacent buildings, gathering on the flat rooftops in preparation for an assault. Haern saw four on his side, and a glance over his shoulder showed five at the other. Terrible numbers, but they’d need to cross the gap between the buildings. An easy feat under normal circumstances. With Haern and Thren protecting the way? Hopefully that would prove far more fatal.

“What are you waiting for?” Haern shouted when the four remained where they were. “The fun’s over here, not over there!”

One of them raised an arm, and Haern realized they were synchronizing their attacks from both sides.
Not a bad idea
, Haern thought, though it gave him and Thren even more time to catch their breaths. All in all, a trade he’d gladly take.

The fist dropped, and the four ran. They’d been bunched together, but upon receiving the signal, they spaced out so that they covered the building from corner to corner. Haern pulled back a step, knowing he could not protect the entire stretch of the wall, which meant he had to make sure the first exchange of the battle was lethal, before they could surround him.

No doubt they’d assumed he’d stay near the middle, but just before they leaped, Haern dashed north. He saw the panic in the farthest of the rogues, saw how the woman tried to bring her weapon to bear. It only botched her landing, her left ankle twisting upon contact with the roof. As she fell, Haern was ready, dropping to his knees and then bracing his sabers. The woman rolled straight into him, as if for an embrace, and the movement impaled her on his blades. Lifting her up to a stand, Haern stared into her dying eyes. He looked for malice, or for fury, but he saw only fading surprise and shock as her blood poured across his hands. Berating himself for such weakness, he kicked her body off the rooftop, then turned to the others. Only three now, and he let the magic of his hood dim, let them see the grin on his face. He felt no joy whatsoever, but they need not know that. Let them see a monster reveling in battle. Let them see the blood of their friend upon his sabers, and be afraid.

When he attacked, two met the charge, the third hesitating out of fear. Better than he’d hoped. Haern never slowed, and when the men planted their feet and swung, Haern dropped to his side, sliding beneath them on the rain-slick rooftop. Back on his feet in a heartbeat, he rushed the frightened, solitary man, who had retreated to the rooftop’s edge.

“No, wait!” he shouted, green eyes wide, scraggly red hair drenched with rain. It was so strange to hear. Wait? For what? Did he want mercy? Was he hoping to somehow survive after all his guild had done? Haern kicked him in the chest, sending him tumbling off the building. He didn’t watch him fall. When he heard the sickening crunch of the body smacking the hard stone below, Haern envisioned the breaking bones, and he saw the shocked look on the face of the woman he’d killed moments earlier. Was that how greatly Muzien had won over these men and women? Did they think death could never come for them so long as they wore the four-pointed star?

Haern whirled, remembering the other two, but it seemed they’d chosen safer prey. Thren had fallen back to the center of the rooftop as Haern had ordered, two of his five dead, the other three methodically cutting and thrusting in rhythm so Thren could not manage a counter. With two more rushing in from his blind side, he’d be a dead man. Haern had to be faster. Picking up speed, legs pumping, he let out a scream and prayed his father would obey.

“Thren, turn!”

His father disengaged a step from the three, then spun to face the other two. His back was vulnerable, but as Thren blocked the attacks of his ambushers, Haern came crashing in from the other side. Mind focused to a razor’s edge, Haern spun and blocked, parried and twisted, his blades dancing in a weave the three could not hope to match. One fell, heel sliced out, and then a second dropped, a red smile opened on his throat. Haern never lost momentum, stabbing the wounded man in the heart as he leaped over him, parrying a frantic thrust of a dagger, and then plunging both sabers into his final opponent’s chest. Pushing for a few steps, he twisted his sabers free as he shoved the body with his heel, sending him tumbling off the rooftop to die in the rain on the street below.

Turning, he saw his father standing above the corpses of the final two. Given how perfectly still he remained, how stiff his arms and tense his legs, Haern thought Thren had taken a wound, but then he followed his gaze to the nearby rooftop.

Standing alone, rain beating down against his long coat, was Muzien the Darkhand.

He said nothing, only stood there watching as the soft wind of the storm played with the bottom of his coat. Slowly Haern joined his father’s side, and they both readied their weapons. Here he was. At long last, they faced the elf who had held the entire city hostage.

“What is he waiting for?” Haern asked in a low voice.

“For us to approach,” Thren said. “It’s his way of challenging us, seeing if we’ll accept.”

“He’ll kill us the moment we try to leap over.”

Thren shook his head.

“That isn’t like him. That elf’s pride won’t let him kill us except in a fair fight.”

“Two against one? Hardly sounds fair.”

Thren grimaced.

“Trust me,” he said. “It’s fair.”

He broke into a steady jog, and after a moment’s hesitation, Haern followed. Together they reached the roof’s edge, leaped over, and then landed before the master of the Sun Guild, who at last showed a sign of life.

He smiled.

   29   

T
he symbol of the spider consuming the sun had just graced their skies when Deathmask arrived at the temple to Ashhur, the rest of his guild in tow. He was pleased to see Calan waiting for him underneath the awning of the temple, along with what appeared to be the majority of the priests and priestesses. Deathmask walked up their marble steps, giving not one thought to the rain. Rain, darkness, shadow … they only gave him more tools to spread fear.

“It seems this is a night for strange bedfellows,” Calan said, offering his hand to Deathmask while looking up to the symbol of the spider slowly fading away before the crimson clouds.

“Let the underworld decide its new king,” Deathmask said. “We have more important matters to deal with. Are you and your kind ready?”

Calan turned to those with him, about twenty in number. While Calan looked calm as ever, the rest were clearly nervous, and Deathmask hoped it would not affect their abilities should it come to battle.

“We are,” Calan said.

“Good,” Deathmask said. “Follow me.”

He hopped back down the steps, where Veliana and the twins waited.

“I’m not comfortable with this,” Veliana said, joining him in stride.

“You don’t need to be,” Deathmask said as he hurried through the rain toward Karak’s temple. “You just have to look pretty, be dangerous, and follow orders. Being comfortable is currently a perk we’re not allowed to have.”

He glanced over his shoulder and saw the trail of priests and priestesses in their white robes falling behind and growing scattered.

“Pick up the pace,” he called to them. “Or is a bit of rain too much for your old bones?”

“One day, when you are old, you will see how terrible it is for your bones to hate the rain,” said Calan, who had caught up with him, the effort leaving him slightly out of breath.

“My dear priest,” said Deathmask, “I highly doubt I will ever have the privilege of growing old. I prefer far too interesting a life.”

Calan let out a soft laugh that might have been a cough.

“I cannot decide if I pity you or envy you,” he said.

“I’d understand either, so go for both,” Deathmask said, and he shouted once more for the priests to pick up their pace on the way to Karak’s temple.

They were halfway there when the first of the shrieks came over the walls. Deathmask dropped to his knees, feeling as if he’d been punched in the gut. Hands to his ears, he glared at the sky, and the wailing skulls soaring in it.

It’s just a spell
, he told himself, trying to fight the effects.
Just a spell, you pathetic worm, now stand up
.

His legs refused, however, his hands shaking even as they covered his ears. Clenching his teeth, he tried again, pushing away any thought of the sound, denying the magical chains that were being lashed to his body. Before he could try again, a soft ringing met his ears. Chanting. Singing. Looking to the priests, he saw that their hands were raised, soft whispers of light rising up like smoke from their fingertips. Upon his hearing their words, it seemed the cries of the skulls were very far away. This time when he tried to stand, he did so with ease, as did the rest of his guild.

“Karak only desires obedience and order,” Calan said, staring at the skulls with clear distaste. “He does not care how he achieves it, even if he must use fear and destruction.”

The eldest of the priests continued singing their chant to Ashhur, while the younger among them shrugged off the lingering effects. Deathmask dwelt in amusement at the irony of his leading such a glowing procession of song and light. The skulls now ignored, they continued down the street until they reached the large but vacant-looking mansion that was the disguised temple of Karak. Deathmask saw that several priests, all fairly young, stood at the corners of the building.

“They’ve been keeping watch since sundown,” Calan explained as the young priests came running upon spotting their group.

“I see.”

Beckoning the stragglers over, Calan gave the entire procession their orders.

“Spread out, all of you, just like you were told. Lift your hands to the sky, and deny the darkness.”

Deathmask leaned over to Veliana as the priest gave his orders.

“Stay hidden,” he told her. “And keep the twins with you. If things go bad, I want you three to have the element of surprise. Just stay hidden until I make a move myself, got it?”

Veliana’s foul look told him how unhappy she was with the idea, but she did not argue, nor did Mier and Nien. The three ran west, to the large mansion beside the temple, and scaled to the top. Trusting them to act wisely, Deathmask joined Calan’s side. The old priest stood before the closed gates of the temple courtyard, hands at his hips. While many of the others sang hymns or offered prayers, Calan remained silent.